


Friends in All the Right Places

by Nitzer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, No Homophobia AU, Slow Burnish?, heavy critique of idol culture, i made myself laugh whatever that's worth, it takes a little bit but wonwoo is WHIPPED, mingyu is still an idol but wonwoo isn't, probably an unreasonable amount of swearing, soonhoon and jeongcheol as very bg ships, this is just a stupidly long romcom strap yourselves in, wonwoo def has depression but you'll never hear it from him, wonwoo is a blushing mess, wonwoo is an edgelord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 50,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22310188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitzer/pseuds/Nitzer
Summary: Wonwoo is a solo rapper with a drug scandal. Mingyu is the face of a struggling idol group. Their companies think they can work something out.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu
Comments: 76
Kudos: 335





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for easy reference: Wonwoo's stage name is MKTM, Andrew's is E-Clips, AJ's is Eqo and their company is called Comet Ent  
> i'm not even a really big meanie shipper idk why this is the longest thing i've ever written i just can't shut up when i'm writing seventeen lol

“I’m not going to ask you if did you it.” It’s the same kind of annoyed with society and the public I’m almost always getting from our CEO Andrew. Frankly he should probably pass the CEO duties off to someone else already and just cut a fat paycheck for “consultation” or whatever. But he won’t so we’re stuck here. “Do you know why, Wonwoo?” 

Andrew has always approached all of his leadership roles like a particularly progressive (particularly American) parent. He always encourages you to question the rules and be creative and is very rarely harsh—very rarely even informed of all of his artists’ personal lives. This little incident only matters because it was caught on camera and because it made it back to Seoul. I pick up one of the million “concentration” toys Andrew managed to accumulate on his desk before answering. The company building was modeled to be sleek, modern and minimalist but Andrew used his office like a storage locker. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

“Because it doesn’t fucking matter.” He repeats enthusiastically. “So you did learn something from all of your books.” He looks like a proud parent which is hilarious because I’m only having this talk with him because some Snapchat story got leaked showing me smoking weed while I was in LA. “Do you know what we’re going to do about it?” He sing-songs.

“No.” I deadpan because I kind of almost have this morbid desire to just let my career go down the drain. I know Andrew won’t let it though.

“Neither do I.” He laughs. “Yet!” He corrects. “We’ll figure it out just not yet. Do you know what you’re gonna do in the mean time?” 

“No.” I deadpan again.

“You’re gonna kiss my ass and do whatever I say until I really fix this.” 

“I’m gonna kiss your ass even though you still have no idea what we’re gonna do about it?” I cock one curious but unamused eyebrow.

“You’re such a miserable sack of shit.” Andrew groans, flicking a stray straw wrapper at my face. “I wish not fixing it would actually make you more miserable so I didn’t have to do anything.” 

“It must be really hard for you to think.” I tell him, fake sympathy dripping over my voice. 

He doesn’t even respond, he just hurls a cube-shaped hunk of plastic at me. It hits me in the shoulder and bounces harmlessly onto the ground. Both of us stare it sitting there motionless for a second before dissolving into giggles.

“There’s my Wonwoo.” He coos fondly, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek. This is probably his real punishment because I’d allowed Andrew like maybe two and half hugs in our entire relationship. I just yank my face away from his hand which sends him into a fresh bought of giggles. “Fine.” He whines like he’s at least half his actual age. “Get outta here, go do some real work or whatever.” He flicks another piece of random trash lying on his desk at me.

And that’s the Andrew I love. He kept a loose leash on all of us if there was even anything you could consider a leash in the first place. We were only in the company because Andrew believed in us and our vision and he let us have near complete creative control over our projects. I only barely get to crack the door open when I hear Andrew knock shit over on his desk.

“Wait!” He yells. “Put a hold on the song about overdosing and be careful with your lyrics for once. If this is gonna blow over you’re gonna have to _let_ it blow over.” He sighs.

“Aye aye captain.” I joke but it really doesn’t matter. There’s no release date for the next album anyway. This will blow over when it blows over and when I release the new album and have a song about overdosing it’ll be a fun little wink and nod to my fans.

~

The whole weed scandal does not just blow over after my little meeting with Andrew. Actually it only gets worse. Every morning I wake up to a different article from a different trashy tabloid website on my phone showing the same looping, grainy footage of me with a vape pen. The silver fucking lining in all of this is that it’s just a vape pen. It’s hard to prove what’s in it. But one of AJ’s American friends says “something something weed” in the background and suddenly everyone is fluent in English I guess. Actually the _real_ silver lining is that all of this went down in LA so the worst it can do is ruin my career, not land me in jail. But still no one seems too happy with it.

Jihoon, AKA Woozi, a producer in the company and maybe the closest thing I have to a friend here just texts one of the trashy articles to me with a few amused emojis when the news breaks. Jeonghan, a model/aspiring singer and probably the second closest thing to a friend I have here, just texts me _sucks 4 u_ with a skull emoji because he’s a bitch. Joshua, a singer in the company who I only ever talk to when we do a featuring for the other, texts me like an over concerned mother. I’m genuinely shocked he doesn’t say something like “devil’s grass” about the whole incident. AJ issues a whole newspaper-worthy apology because he just happened to be out visiting his sister that day and not keeping an eye on his friends. But it’s really killing my former-model manager, Emily. And in return, Emily does her best to come as close as she can to killing me without alerting Andrew.

“This is like the sixth fucking website that contacted me _today_.” Emily groans from her perch on my studio couch. It would be generous to call her “dressed” in an oversized sweatshirt and the shortest pair of shorts I’ve ever seen in my life because she never stopped being stupid gorgeous or vain she just stopped getting paid for it. “And they’re only getting more legitimate. This isn’t just blowing over, Wonwoo.” She fixes her gaze on me sternly.

“What’s next? Dispatch?” I deadpan. I’m not getting a lot of writing done with Emily breathing down my neck and the pressure of the whole situation rising. And the more it looks like my career is just going to up and implode the more I’m ready for it to happen already.

“Shut the fuck up.” She stretches out on the couch to smack me with the stack of papers in her hand. “You know I blocked their number back when you released a single just called ‘Bastard’.”

“Well then, what do you have to be worried about?” I move the same bit of audio back and forth to look busy. But the song I’m looking at was released like a year ago so I guess Emily doesn’t pay that much attention to my career.

Emily’s got some complaint about Dispatch or the names of my songs or my general demeanor ready on her tongue when the door slams open into the opposite wall. She just clicks her tongue in annoyance when she realizes it’s Andrew. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do about the Wonwoo problem yet?” She sends a glare my way that implies that the “Wonwoo problem” is my existence.

“I did!” Andrew answers all excited and breathless because he’s always been too much energy in too small of a body.

Emily cocks an interested but not convinced eyebrow. “You _did_?”

“What better way to fight a scandal than with a juicier scandal?” His eyes are sparkling with wonder like he’s the smartest kid in the class. Unfortunately he’s already pushing forty and Emily would never play teacher.

She snorts derisively. “What are we gonna do then? Get Wonwoo hooked on heroin?”

“No!” Andrew loses all of his childish excitement to looking genuinely horrified at the suggestion. “No more drugs!”

“Then what kind of ‘scandal’ are we going to get him into?” Emily does a good enough job at defending me (from Andrew’s ideas at least) and calling Andrew out on his terrible ideas that I go back to fucking around on my computer.

“Dating.” And the light is back in Andrew’s eyes and I’m back in the conversation. “Dating another celebrity, maybe an idol if I play my cards right.”

“Dating? Why didn’t you tell me you were dating?” Emily snorts, casting her eyes back towards me.

And I know she’s joking and Emily has been my manager for years. We were closer than I was with most of my real family but I had never talked about dating with her. Not even jokingly. So the question leaves me flustered and uncomfortable. “I’m—I’m not.” I sputter.

She just laughs. “Good. If I had known I would’ve moved that night shoot so you had time for a date.”

“Guys, I’m talking about fake dating.” Andrew explains to get us back on track. “Just for the press. The people love a good love story more than anything else, you know this.”

“Not me.” Emily deadpans.

“Not me.” I echo.

Andrew lowers his voice to his “disappointed dad” tone. “Look, Em, I know Wonwoo is a lost fucking cause but I expected you at least to be on board with this.”

She sighs and folds her legs delicately like she does when she’s negotiating with another company. “Don’t worry, he’s going to do it. I’ll make sure of _that_.” She sends a pointed look my way. “I just don’t like how smug you’re looking about all of this.”

Andrew just waves that off. “Well, I want to give Wonwoo a say in all this too.” He turns an appraising gaze my way.

“I’m not going to do it.”

That just sends Andrew into a fit of hysterics. “You are.” He corrects without even taking my objection into consideration. “I was just gonna let you pick your fake date if it’d make you stop being so fucking miserable. So…do you have any requests?”

I think about my handful of famous friends and most of them are either in the company or I haven’t spoken to in years (or both). I’m sure none of my old roommates from when I first moved to Seoul would appreciate a call from me at all much less to be my fake date for my own stupid scandal. And I don’t think anyone inside the company would have the same “juicy dating scandal” punch that Andrew was looking for. Jihoon was a quiet producer who rarely ever even showed his face to the public as “Woozi” and getting caught out somewhere with him was unlikely to make an _article_ much less a headline. Emily was basically unknown to the public at this point too and the media people that knew me, knew my manager. Andrew and I dating would likely be a whole other scandal to deal with rather than a solution and that was only if we could stomach fake dating first. Joshua would never sully his pristine reputation especially to save my ass. And Jeonghan just wasn’t famous enough, among more…complicated reasons.

“Um…no.” I answer after an uncomfortable amount of silence. Luckily, both Emily and Andrew were used to me being quiet and awkward.

Andrew gives me a concerned once-over but doesn’t ask anything. “I’ll get you the cutest, sweetest little idol I can get my hands on, Wonnie, don’t worry.” He gives me a reassuring smile and ruffles my hair affectionately.

It is genuinely warm and not teasing so all I give him is a half-hearted grimace in return. “And I’m supposed to just trust _your_ taste?”

“ _You_ won’t give me anything else to work off of.” He accuses with raised eyebrows. “Listen, I’ll make this as painless as possible. You just have to let it happen.”

“I will make sure he lets this happen.” Emily cuts in with her stern gaze.

“Good.” He exclaims, some of his childish energy returning to his face. “I’ll call you when I’ve worked something out.” He leaves almost quietly and delicately for him, closing the door tightly behind him like an observant and caring parent.

“Does he even _know_ any idols?” I ask Emily as she crumples back into her natural position on my couch.

She puffs out an uninterested laugh. “Don’t ask me, I’m not _his_ manager.”

~

It turns out that Andrew does know an idol—or at least a producer at a company that has idols. I find that out through a phone call directly from Andrew which is like the least _Andrew_ thing he’s done since the scandal broke. Usually Andrew dumped whatever he had to tell me in a groupchat with me and Emily, relayed it through Emily or cornered me in the company building to talk to me face to face. “I thought I blocked your number.” I greet, spinning away from my computer in my studio.

“Don’t be like that.” He pouts. “I have a really nice surprise waiting for you.”

I see Emily perk up and shift on my couch when she hears “surprise” from Andrew. It makes me feel like the two are tag-teaming me in whatever terrible plan they’ve devised. “I’m not a fan of surprises. You know that.” I challenge, trying to dig something out from under my nail.

“Look,” Andrew lowers his voice to his best “disappointed parent” impression, “your boyfriend is here and he’s really cute and I think you’ll really like him so just come meet him.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” I sputter nervously. I have no shortage of fans that treat me like an idol and would happily play boyfriend or girlfriend or just keep my bed warm for the night. I’m aware. I haven’t fucked around since I got to Seoul though and I didn’t do much before that either. It was just bad timing—inconvenient while I was trying to start a career and then when I got settled and everything slowed down, Andrew had already introduced me to someone beautiful enough to ruin everyone else for me. And _he_ remained just out of my grasp. So, I clearly wasn’t dating and I hadn’t in a long time.

“I know!” Andrew responds brightly. “That’s why I so graciously went out and got you one…to fix our problem, you know?” He brings the phone closer to his mouth and whispers the last part.

“Oh,” I deadpan. I never thought he would actually find someone to fake date me. I thought I was in the clear. “So you found an idol?” I snort.

“Come meet him and find out.” He sings and hangs up.

I turn to Emily, unamused. “So, where is he? He managed to forget that little detail.”

“In the boardroom.” She answers, getting up and smoothing down her skirt and fixing her hair. She looks professional for once, I figured it was for Jeonghan or one of the other talents in the company, not me. But maybe it’s for my little “boyfriend.” “He spent all morning cleaning up everything and debating whether the boardroom would be too fancy or if his office would be too messy or if you’d even let anyone into your studio, by the way.”

“Why bother? It’s just some idol kid.” I snort.

“Because he’s doing us a big favor and we don’t even have to pay him.” She answers, fixing me with disappointed look. “And Andrew worked hard for this.”

“Why do I feel like you two are trying to arrange my marriage?” I grimace.

“Who knows?” She answers vaguely with a smile that makes me worry about my future. “Maybe we are.” And she throws the doors open to the boardroom.

“Wonnie, my love!” Andrew cries, opening his arms for me. It’s a hug I won’t’ be taking. “Mingyu, meet Wonwoo. You might already know him as MKTM though.” He instructs to the kid perched in one of the chairs around the big, boardroom table. So I guess he really did find an idol.

The kid, Mingyu I guess, clambers out of his seat and gives me a stiff bow and a formal greeting. “Hello, I’m Kim Mingyu.” He’s cute, I guess. He has the stiff, too loud, too energetic energy most other rookie idols have. But I appreciate the formality, especially with all the too casual, too American shit I was used to. He’s not stunning though. He’s not more beautiful than Emily or Jeonghan—even Joshua could probably give him a run for his money on a good day. He’s tall and has that baby face that idols always do (or maybe he’s really a baby, god knows how young they’re debuting them these days). And when he gives me a nervous smile I notice sharply pointed canines but that’s the only thing about him that isn’t childish and soft. He’s just idol cute, some thirteen-year-old’s first crush.

“Jeon Wonwoo.” He doesn’t offer his hand but I shake it anyway. His hand dwarfs mine but it’s clammy like this is a job interview he’s been dreading.

“I appreciate the opportunity.” He gives me a reserved smile and I wonder what we are offering to him for him to be so pliant and nervous.

“Isn’t he just so cute?” Andrew quietly whispers to Emily, clinging onto her arm like a kid seeing Disneyland for the first time.

“Precious.” Emily placates gently, much softer than she usually is with either me or Andrew.

“So what are you offering him?” I turn to Emily and Andrew, my gaze sharpening a little bit. You don’t get a pretty, little thing like this for cheap. Even if his company still doesn’t pay him yet.

“He—” Andrew cuts himself off, fond eyes turning to Mingyu. He tucks his tongue behind his teeth before continuing. “He should probably tell you. Anyway,” he starts, resuming his chipper attitude, “you two should get to know each other anyway, who knows if there will be interviews? Do you want to show him your studio?”

I don’t want to show him my studio necessarily. Jihoon rarely got to see my studio. Jeonghan was only in there like once a month. And Andrew was not a regular guest either. It was for me and Emily, my music and my books and that was it. It wasn’t something well-decorated or even really reflective of me. It wasn’t meant for company and I guess something unpleasant flashes over my face at the suggestion because Andrew starts frantically waving his hands at us.

“Or you can stay here, or take any other room in the building. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He offers hurriedly.

“It’s okay, I’ll take him to my studio.” I shrug. I’m not trying to _impress_ Mingyu. He’s already in on this. We’ve clearly offered him something much better than _me_. He’s not some singer I’m trying to collab with and he’s not Jeonghan. He’s just some idol kid in a mutually beneficial deal with us. “Is that cool?”

He nods like he’s horrified what will happen if he refuses us. I guess that’s just the rookie idol spirit though.

“We don’t have to go to my studio.” I tell him once the door closes behind us and Andrew and Emily stay behind. “We have a nice garden on the roof and there’s a café close by—well, we should probably do this in private but…whatever.”

“No, your studio is fine. I just—I look really nervous, don’t I?” He laughs, his eyes downcast.

“This is probably very new to you.” I snort. “New to me too, I’m just on home turf.”

“What? You never dated an idol for the publicity before?” He jokes, straitening up his posture and pretending to preen.

“Oh, so it was an idol before me, huh?” I joke along with him.

“The more idols, the more publicity, baby.” He sing-songs, his voice getting louder but not the ear-grating loudness of rookie idols introducing themselves in music broadcast halls that he had before. He cringes like he’s finally hearing his own voice and it’s too loud or too annoying or whatever. “Sorry.” He mutters.

“You don’t have to try to impress us. Any of us.” I tell him. “You’re doing _us_ a favor.”

He laughs, a nervous half-hearted thing. “Actually, you guys are doing _me_ a favor, doing my whole company a favor really and I’ve always been a fan of E-clips. I kinda _want_ to impress him.”

“I’ll be sure to let Andrew know.” I laugh. It’s a warm kind of feeling to be someone’s connection to Andrew for once. Sometimes I still feel like Emily is my connection to him. “I’m sure he already loves you, though, he’s not hard to impress and he _always_ gives second chances.” I punch in the code to my studio and fling open the door for Mingyu. It’s still not made for company—one couch and my computer chair for seating and not even a coffee table to match. “You’re our pretty little idol, here to fix all our problems.” I assure him.

His mouth drops into a surprised little ‘o’ when he peeks around the corner to really see my studio. “You have your _own_ studio?” He nearly cries. “This is why I’m trying to impress you guys.” He tries to play off like a joke, smoothing out his features.

“Flattering me does not get you regular access to this studio.” I laugh, closing the door behind us. “The only way you get in here is by being Emily and that’s mostly because she knows how to set the passcode.”

Something like recognition or shock passes over Mingyu’s face or maybe he’s just found something new to look at in the studio. He sits himself awkwardly onto the couch that is usually occupied by Emily and I settle into my computer chair.

“So…” I start out awkwardly, “what _are_ we offering you?”

“Publicity.” He says, his voice only barely shaking as he refuses to make eye contact. “Same thing as you.”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to cover up something here, are you?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“No!” He responds, almost defensively. “We could just…use the publicity, I guess.”

“Oh,” I answer a little disappointedly, “I guess that Bangtan boom hit everyone hard, didn’t it?”

“They don’t go by Bangtan anymore.” He answers robotically like it’s something that was drilled into him all his years of being a trainee. It’s, frankly, kinda horrifying.

“Do I look like I care?” I joke to lighten the mood.

He reaches out to playfully smack my arm. “Well, get with it. Your boyfriend’s an idol now.” And Mingyu might not have been the prettiest person I’d ever seen up close—maybe not even the prettiest idol I’d ever seen—but with his sharp canines peeking out from behind his lips, he had one of the prettiest smiles I’d ever seen. “A struggling idol.” He corrects with a burdened puff of air.

“Well, tell me who I’m supposed to be promoting at least.” I invite.

“I’m Mingyu of D-Teen, short for diamond teens, a five-member hip hop focused idol group that will stun you with our sharp choreography and rap.” He says professionally, practiced and then deflates with a heavy sigh. “But Seungcheol-hyung is better at the introductions. I’m just the face.” He flutters his fingers under his chin to show off his face.

“How old are you anyway?” I ask, hearing “hyung” from him. “Legal at least, I hope.” Because it would not shock me if, while Andrew was creating his fun little romance, he forgot how young they’re debuting idols now.

“I’m twenty-two!” He huffs almost defensively. “I’m the…third oldest in the group.” Which in a group of five means nothing. But I don’t expect him to be only a year younger than me. I guess it’s that youth that’s really the idol appeal.

“So, I’m your hyung too.”

He presses into my personal space instead. “No, _you’re_ my oppa.” He giggles. “Or maybe my jagiya, we’ll have to come up with pet names at some point.”

“Can we be normal first?” I grimace, pushing him back towards the couch.

He snorts. “What part of this is ‘normal’ to begin with?”

Nothing, I suppose but I don’t say that. I just let the silence hang in the air between us.

“So,” he starts coyly, “is there anything you want me to plug?” I think the double-entendre is lost on him. It’s fine, the innocence is cute at least.

“No,” I answer after a second of thought, “I don’t even know when I’m gonna drop a new album. But I did have a single called ‘Bastard’ if you want an excuse to say that to the press.”

He smiles an amused smile like this is a cute, little secret shared just between the two of us. Joke’s on him though because that was one of my best performing singles. “Are we into the ‘getting to know each other’ part of this thing now? Business stuff out of the way?”

“Sure.” I answer because I think the “business stuff” as mundane as it is, has Mingyu in over his head. I think he’s always had someone to negotiate deals for him regardless of how much they really had his best interests at heart.

“So did you really do it?” He asks, leaning forward like an over-excited kid, reminding me almost uncomfortably of Andrew’s excitement.

“Do what?” I respond dryly.

“You know,” he whines exasperatedly, “in LA? Did you really do weed?”

“You don’t _do_ weed.” I correct without thinking, implicating myself already.

“So you _did_ it!” He almost squeals.

“It’s legal in LA, y’know.” I brush off. “It’s not a big deal or anything.”

“Big enough deal to hunt down an idol and dream up a fake dating scheme.” He shoots back.

“Hey, Andrew did all that. I didn’t care.”

He fixes me with a look that’s not quite disappointed or disapproving but maybe falls somewhere in the realm of “pity.” I don’t really care for it. Then he curls his legs up on the couch and his face softens into a kind of childish curiosity (I don’t want to say “innocence” because he’s only a year younger than me but maybe that would be appropriate). “Do you think we’ll have to kiss for this?” His tone is carefully-controlled, neutral wonder.

There are several responses waiting on my tongue—“absolutely fucking not,” “if we have to, I will just save everyone the trouble and start a crack habit right here in Seoul,” “won’t your fans straight up kill me?”—but I just laugh. It’s the way he’s perched on the couch, leaning forward with wide eyes like a _Little Mermaid_ poster that takes all of the acid out of my voice. Plus, one little screen kiss with Mingyu isn’t the worst thought in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of this is already prewritten but not all of it so like get on my ass to finish it if i slack off  
> [tumblr](angelinmyheartt.tumblr.com) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Nitzer)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're an esports fan and a name looks familiar to you, i definitely stole it straight from some pro's gamertag

Emily is the first person to send me a headline with a picture of me and Mingyu together—the _only_ picture of me and Mingyu together, ever. It’s one of those fluff articles with like two paragraphs of speculation that relies entirely on the paparazzi shot they caught. But it really is maybe one of the best pictures I’ve ever seen of myself. Even if it’s lit up with a too-bright flash and I’m wearing sunglasses at like eleven at night under the neons of Itaewon. I have a look of fierce determination on my face, nearly stomping down the sidewalk. Mingyu is clinging onto my arm, not quite looking up at me (because he’s too tall for that) but looking soft and vulnerable. I’m wearing something that Emily took from Jeonghan or wardrobe or maybe Andrew himself but it’s stylish and looks good on me. Mingyu looks good too with a black face mask covering his mouth and his eyes crinkled up in a smile. It looks like he’s whispering something in my ear, holding me close like that. And he was. It just wasn’t anything romantic.

Emily tells me that the story isn’t big yet but she’s doing everything she can to fan the flames. Andrew sends me the same article with a bunch of thumbs up emojis, obviously proud of himself (maybe of me too). Jihoon sends me a screencap of the article with the caption, _an idol? really?_ But I know the soft spot Jihoon has for pretty little things—if his frequent collaborators are anything to go by—so he can’t judge too much. Jeonghan sends just a crop of the picture itself with demands to tell him what’s going on, he even calls himself my “best friend” which is maybe a stretch. Mingyu, a very new contact in my phone, sends the picture I like the best, the one Emily first sent me with just the caption, _we look good_.

We’re in Itaewon in the picture because it was always supposed to be Itaewon. It was a good place to make a covert debut—covered in neons and crawling with celebrities in half-assed disguises. Andrew, who had probably been planning this date for longer than he knew Mingyu at all, wanted a fancy dinner followed by a walk down to some club. I think it sounds like a nightmare. I think it sounds like a lot of time trapped awkwardly with someone I really don’t know too well. I barely even like sitting down in a restaurant to have dinner with Emily or Jihoon. Luckily, Mingyu’s manager negotiates the date down to a walk through Itaewon because the dinner would take too much time out of Mingyu’s schedule.

So we both get into Andrew’s car late one night, probably like ten or so, and sit awkwardly and stiffly in the backseat like two teenagers being chaperoned to prom. He drops us off between two clubs where the music is so loud it spills out and mixes into cacophony on the sidewalk. Andrew triple-checks that Mingyu has his phone number and tells us to be safe and have fun and that we can’t leave until we’re _sure_ that someone took a picture of us and I slam the passenger door of his car before he can finish. He just rolls down the window and fixes me with an unamused stare. “Wonwoo,” he reprimands and then he turns his gaze to Mingyu. “Anyway, Mingyu, call me when you guys are finished and I guess Wonwoo can fend for himself.” But at least that shuts him up and he drives off.

Mingyu laughs good-naturedly and links our arms together. We don’t actually go into any of the clubs. I haven’t been in any club in Itaewon since I signed with Comet anyway. And Mingyu’s group is too young (his _fans_ are too young) for clubs to be a good look on them yet. So we just walk under the neons and hear the too-loud leftovers of clubs with drastically different concepts. Aside from that it’s shockingly comparable to a first date (not that I have a ton of experience). I learn some basic facts about Mingyu—he’s from Gyeonggi but not Seoul, he’s got a younger sister and a dog, he plays soccer and basketball, he went to a performing arts high school—and make small talk. But the whole time he clings onto my arm and giggles and plays it up for the camera even when it’s clear there are none yet. He’s everything his company could ever ask for and more and it even makes me question what’s real and not.

When the first camera flash pops Mingyu is leaning up to whisper something in my ear like a real pair of clandestine lovers. He’s just asking me if I have any pets, though. (I do, two cats, Esca and Tobi, two kittens from Emily’s cat that I never intended on really keeping but it’s been more than a year now.) And the first camera only seems to attract others. By the time the answer is off my lips I’m certain we’ve made the splash our companies wanted.

We scurry away from the clubs and the cameras, down some side street. “What about the rest of your family?” He asks, barely winded because someone invested in breathing lessons for him. Because he can dance his whole three minute and twenty second song and sing at the same time.

“Don’t worry,” I get out, winded, “no one will ask about that. Emily made sure a long time ago.”

His brows pinch together in worry but that’s a wound he can’t do anything about. No one really can at this point. “Okay.” He finally concedes, unsurely. It’s a wound he shouldn’t _have_ to do anything with anyway. It’s not his problem. It’s got nothing to do with our little publicity stunt.

When Andrew comes to pick us up, he thanks Mingyu like a million times and they resume their pleasant small talk. I do not participate. I haven’t said anything to Mingyu since he asked about my family. I just haven’t found anything to say to him.

So when the pictures come out and Mingyu texts me, I still haven’t talked to him since that night. And after lunch with Jihoon on the rooftop, I finally have something to say to him. _we do_ , I respond.

~

Jeonghan gets back from Beijing for a shoot after the pictures of me and Mingyu are already taken and leaked all over the internet. I haven’t seen him since before all this started, since before I even knew Mingyu. But the morning he gets home he sits perched on the couch in my studio just like Emily, in ripped skinny jeans and a regal-looking shirt with cherubs on it. He flips newly-dyed silver hair over his shoulder as the door closes behind me and sets his phone down. “My precious Wonnie!” He cries. “You have to tell me _everything_!”

I elbow my computer on without looking at him. “I _know_ that Emily already told you everything, don’t pull that shit.”

“You know it’s different hearing it from you! It’s your little boyfriend anyway.” He waves off. “So tell me, what’s he like?” He perches his chin on his hands and leans into me.

“He’s a cute, little idol kid.” I throw out. “Exactly what you’d expect.”

“Don’t be rude.” He pouts. “I want details.”

“Well, you won’t get them from me.” I sigh. “I’ve only met him twice.”

He looks down at his phone and then back at me, still pouting, his eyebrows drawing in to frustrated crinkles. “You’re being very mean, Wonnie.”

“Andrew knows him better than me, really.” I try to placate, letting my hand fall on his shoulder. “I don’t really know Mingyu.”

He turns his sparkling, puppy dog eyes on me before sighing. “Point him out at least.” He concedes. “I wanna know which one is your little boyfriend.” He holds his phone out to me and I see tons of pictures on the screen, more than a “struggling” idol group should have in my opinion. In the picture he has open, he’s zoomed in on Seungcheol’s face I think. I know it’s not Mingyu’s at least.

“He’s the visual.” I dead-pan.

Jeonghan looks up at me like a lost puppy, like I just handed parabolas to a third grader. And I know he’s god’s most beautiful creation or whatever—a superstar model who’s always surrounded by unbelievable beauties—but this shouldn’t be that hard. “Can’t you like…point to him?”

“You’ve _seen_ pictures of him before!”

“He was wearing a mask!” He defends. “And he’s changed his hair.” But he still pouts down at the picture and looks at it like he’s thinking really hard. He eventually, unsurely points at Mingyu.

“That’s Mingyu, my fake date.” I tell him.

Relief washes over his face. “Oh thank god.” And I can’t tell if he’s relieved over not looking like an idiot or something else. Jeonghan’s always been hard for me to read. “Have you met the other members?” He asks conversationally, kicking back to lie on my couch.

“I don’t even know their names.” I laugh. “I’ve never had to go to his company, he always comes here.”

He “hmphs” a cute little frustrated noise and settles into my couch with his brows gradually softening. He stays on his phone behind me while I work and it’s a lot like having Emily in my studio with me. Jeonghan’s a lot like Emily in a lot of ways. Both beautiful and vain, not afraid to use their looks to their advantage, plus their modeling careers and their demanding nature. It’s no wonder Andrew took to Jeonghan so easily. But Jeonghan was untouchable and ethereal in a way Emily never could be to me.

I’d watched Emily work. I knew her _mom_ , I spend _Chuseok_ with her for fuck’s sake. I’d seen her asleep, both passed out on the couch here and sharing a bed with her. I’d seen her get too drunk and cry about a childhood she usually wouldn’t say a word about. She was the most touchable person in the world to me. I’d probably shared the most contact with her out of everyone else in the world ever since I left for Seoul.

But I’d never seen Jeonghan outside of this building or across the table at some restaurant for company dinners. He was rarely close enough to touch. I’d never gotten more than him draping himself over my shoulders when he wants me to put him in touch with some new _Show me the Money_ upstart I did a song with. He was an ideal. He was the prettiest person I’d ever seen in my life. He was the litmus test I used for everyone else who breezed into my life. And no one was ever as beautiful, as breathtaking, as commanding or as enticing as Jeonghan.

And he’d leave my studio sometime, Emily would take his place. And it would be weeks until he glanced my way again, leaving me behind like a cheap novelty toy. And I’d still write love songs about him. It wasn’t exactly a romance that Andrew could market to the press but that’s why he got Mingyu instead. That’s why Jeonghan was never even a consideration.

~

Mingyu comes back to Comet’s company building with his manager a few days after Jeonghan gets back from Beijing. Pledis reminds us that there’s still some details to work out in this little agreement and wants to know about interviews and television appearances and anything else this could lead to for Mingyu. So Andrew and Emily and Mingyu’s manager sit in one of the conference rooms and talk details and Mingyu gets sent down to my studio like a kid that needs to be babysat.

“You make your own music?” Mingyu asks, laying upside down and half-off the couch, swinging his legs aimlessly. His eyes are lit up with wonder.

“Why else would I have my own studio?” I answer but I haven’t really been writing recently. The new album isn’t coming together anymore and I’m mostly trying to salvage songs I’ve shelved over the years.

“I don’t know,” he rolls over onto his stomach, “my practice room kinda looks like this. I mean, no fancy computer but otherwise it’s kinda similar.”

“But you don’t make your music?” I prompt. I’m familiar enough with idols to know who usually makes their music (someone like Jihoon or any of the other producers we have here) but the new upstarts seem to like making their own music nowadays.

He blows some hair out of his face. “I don’t. Soonyoung helps with composition sometimes, so does Seungcheol and even Chan is starting to learn. Hansol likes writing lyrics. I just never learned I guess.” He shrugs but I see the heaviness still weighing him down. “It’s cool to see you work. It’s different.” He smirks. “Can’t believe I got so lucky, landed such a talented and driven boyfriend.” He jokes.

“I guess since you’re the trophy husband, I’ve gotta contribute something.” I snort.

“You know me, always the face.” He gives me a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

I almost want to lay my hand on his shoulder, to remind him of everything else he’s great at. But I don’t know him. I don’t know what his singing sounds like, if he picks up around his dorm or if he’s the one leaving the mess. I don’t know if he’s the star of his group or if he’s coasting on looks. And we’re not even friends really. We’re business partners at best. So I keep my hands at my computer and my mouth shut.

“So how’d we start dating anyway?” Mingyu asks, the lightness back in his tone, craning his neck to meet my eyes from where he was laying. “I mean, how’d Mr. Gloom and Doom over there pick up a pretty, young idol?”

“I don’t know.” I answer too quickly to even really think about it. “Andrew can figure that out, all we have to do is _look_ like a couple, not sound like one.”

He tosses one of my pillows above him with a thoughtful expression for a moment. “Aren’t they talking interview rights right now though?”

“What I’m hearing is that it’s their job.” I turn my chair to give him a pointed stare.

He sighs at me but it comes out soft and rounded, fond almost. “Have some fun with this, god.”

“With what?” I dramatically let my eyes drift over everything in the studio before landing on him. “The kid they made me babysit?”

“I’m one whole year younger than you, don’t be dramatic.” He rolls his eyes but then they land on the padded walls of the studio. “Hey, is this place sound-proofed?”

“It’s a studio, not a recording booth.”

“Come here.” He motions next to him and I must grimace or something because the couch is really not _my_ place in this studio because he sighs and rolls his eyes again. “Come on,” he urges, “you’re gonna have to get used to being close to me if we’re gonna _look_ like a couple.”

“Fine,” I settle in next to him, “what do you want?”

He plants his hands on the couch and arches his back and lets out an exaggerated, _loud_ , feminine moan.

“ _What_ are you doing?” I hiss, my face going red. It’s more of a joke than a _moan_ but it’s still enough to embarrass me.

“Having fun.” He answers simply, a smile playing on his lips and his eyes half-lidded. “Are you saying you wouldn’t fuck me on this couch?”

“Don’t do that,” I nearly plead, “you’re an idol. That’s filthy.”

“So what?” He laughs and shrugs his shoulders like he’s wearing all the confidence in the world. Like he’s god’s favorite creation. It’s not a bad look on him. “Reversal charms or whatever.” He lets his hand rest on my chest. “You’re telling me that if this was real you wouldn’t fuck me here?”

“Everyone in this building knows this is fake, there’s no act to put on here.” It’s supposed to come out stern but my voice is shaking and I’m trying to subtly shift away from his touch.

“Does it always have to be for them?” He asks and looks more like the doe-eyed kid I was introduced to at first. He crowds me until he falls over on top of me and the little minx leaves him entirely.

“What if it’s sound-proofed? What if no one heard your little stunt?” I prod, poking my finger into his side.

“Then I just got to mess around with you.” He laughs and the little giggles are cute, endearing. “I mean just because we have to do this for the cameras doesn’t mean that we can’t do something for ourselves too.”

And his stupid little stunt finally registers in my mind. My pretty, sheltered little idol just moaned in my fucking ear for the laughs. It’s so ridiculous. So unbelievable. A story we could never tell interviewers. A story I probably won’t even tell Andrew. And maybe his laugh is infectious. But I’m laughing too. I’m giggling with him until he’s playfully hitting me with one of the pillows and I’m rolling him over. “Fine,” I concede, my voice light with laughter in a way I haven’t heard in years, “we can do something for ourselves too.”

And I think I had been so caught up in getting out of this whole, ridiculous situation as quickly as Andrew would let me get it that I never stopped to think that I could get something out of it for myself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i only take pot shots at giriboy bc i love his music as much as i do

Mingyu’s company almost stops coming up with excuses to drop Mingyu off at Comet and have us babysit him instead. They give some flimsy explanation about Chan and Soonyoung working on choreography for an old song and Seungcheol being in a meeting and us bonding or something before his manager is off again in the company van. But it’s clear that they just don’t know what to do with Mingyu aside from throwing him at us.

I hear the lock on my door beeping open before I hear Emily. “Guess what, Wonwoo?” She greets flatly. She’s got that professional makeup and appropriate-length skirt on that tells me she’s actually got business to do today. “It’s Mingyu.” She answers without fanfare, shoving him into the studio.

It is, indeed, Mingyu in what I assume is the slouchy idol uniform—brand name sweats and a tank top that barely covers anything. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.” He comments, coming closer to inspect them.

I flinch away unconsciously. I guess Mingyu hasn’t seen my glasses yet, though. I broke my regular pair not long before I met him and only recently got them replaced.

“You can’t be flinching away like that.” He clicks his tongue almost admonishingly.

“Listen to the kid.” Emily backs up from where she’s adjusting the straps on her heels in the doorway.

It’s not like I’ve been blind to Mingyu this whole time—Emily made me wear my contacts after my old glasses broke and didn’t listen to me bitch about how uncomfortable they were. It’s not even the first time that Mingyu’s been this close, all up in my face. It’s just different, looking at him through my glasses. “Save it for the cameras.” I try, pushing his face away.

“Aw, you flustered him. Cute.” Emily quips. “Anyway, have fun but not enough fun to stain the couch. That’s my seat.” She makes sure to make threatening eye contact with me before shutting the door behind her and scurrying off.

“Are you guys really close like that?” Mingyu asks, his eyes lingering on the doorway.

“Like what?” I answer. My computer has gone to sleep. I can’t even pretend to be working anymore.

“Like…I don’t know.” He sighs. “Like you’re always teasing each other and stuff, like real family?”

The phrase “real family” leaves a bad taste in my mouth but Emily basically is my family. She’s certainly closer to me than my “real” family, Andrew too. “I used to live with her.” I settle on. “For a little bit, when Comet first signed me.” I remember living out of Emily’s guest room with half-a-drawer of clothes and my laptop. I remember tip-toeing around her existence until she _made_ me fight with her so we’d get comfortable. And we playfully bickered for months and when I finally made enough to move out, I didn’t really want to leave.

“Oh,” his face scrunches up in mild displeasure. I guess he didn’t like the idea of living with his manager.

“Aren’t you close with your manager? He seems cool.” Mingyu’s manager, while I never bothered to learn his name, has one of those immediately trustworthy faces and always just seemed harried and in a rush whenever I saw him.

“I mean yeah…” He trails off. “Not like family, though. Not like you and Emily. The company would never let that happen because then he might actually be nice to us.” He laughs uneasily.

“You can borrow her while you’re here.” I offer. “She likes you too.” I think about the mornings I still spent with Emily—the way her face scrunched up in annoyance when the alarm went off, how she had to spend at least five minutes with the cats before she’d even look at me. I think about getting up stupid early for a full day of press without her rolling out of bed next to me in the morning and I don’t think I could do it. I really don’t think I could.

“Doesn’t she have enough to deal with?” He jokes.

Emily manages me and Jeonghan and most of the other models, will still dip her fingers in Andrew’s business if she feels like it. She had a lot on her hands but she wouldn’t be doing any of it if she didn’t want to. It’s not like she was ever a _manager_. She was always just a friend doing Andrew a favor. She wouldn’t even bother letting Mingyu in the studio if she didn’t want to. “She’ll make time for you.” I assure.

I don’t know what flashes over Mingyu’s face—relief? Mild annoyance? A real, deep-seated resignation?—whatever it is, it’s gone in less than a second. “Lemme see your glasses, they’re cute.” He requests, bright as always, making grabby hands at me.

“They’re just glasses.” I brush off. I knew some rappers who built an image off their glasses— _Giriboy_ —but I favor the thin-rimmed round ones. The ones everyone wears, even idols.

He doesn’t even really get the glasses on, he’s still just holding them in front of his face. “Wow,” he breathes out, “you’re blind as _shit_.”

“Oh I’m sorry Mr. Stunningly-Beautiful-with-Perfect-Eyesight, some of us have flaws.” I deadpan.

He leans into my face. “You think I’m stunningly beautiful?” He presses.

“What?” I snort. “You need _me_ to inflate your ego?”

“I mean,” he lets his hand wander teasingly up my arm, “what else are boyfriends for?” He’s close. He’s too close, in a space I rarely even let Emily into. And there’s no reason to be this close in a locked, sound-proofed room when the only people who know the code also know this is a fucking charade. He makes an exaggerated kissy face at me. “We should take a picture. I mean, we’re gonna have to be a cute social media couple eventually.” He fishes his phone out and it’s all a joke now. All a charade.

I let him pull me onto the couch next to him. He’s really wearing my glasses now, throwing a V-sign next to me, looking effortless and care-free. Then he presses a light kiss to my cheek and the whole process rolls out like one of those photobooth pictures Joshua likes so much. I realize, with no fanfare at all, that I _will_ end up kissing Mingyu at some point. It’s just a matter of time. The thought doesn’t really bother me.

~

Mingyu stays for a while. He plays games on my phone and listens to me fuck around with my music for a little bit. I even mange to teach him a little bit about beat-making while he slides perfectly between my arms and the desk. Then Andrew drops off take-out for both of us and while Mingyu is laughing with Andrew, I wonder _if_ Mingyu is going to go home.

“It’s like…late.” I tell him, later than I usually spend in the studio anyway and I really don’t know what to do with him anymore.

He flicks his eyes down to the clock in the corner of my screen. “Oh,” he says quietly “it is.” I have a brief, ridiculous fantasy of having a sleepover with Mingyu. But I’ve never had a sleepover, even when I was a kid. I didn’t have a good idea of what a sleepover with _friends_ was much less what it would be like with my fake, idol boyfriend. “My manager hasn’t texted me or anything.” He offers apologetically, looking at his phone.

“I can drive you.” I offer without even thinking. Comet as a whole could probably be taking more responsibility for Mingyu’s transportation anyway. I mean, _we_ wanted him.

He turns so he’s slotted between my knees, eyes sparkling with a million stars. “You can _drive_?” He gasps.

I feel like I’ve sent his expectations of me sky-rocketing without knowing. “I…can.” I respond slowly, nowhere near as enthusiastic as Mingyu.

“This face is _made_ for sitting pretty in the passenger’s seat, y’know?” He flutters his eyelashes at me but he’s not really pretty in a feminine way so it doesn’t do much for him. “You should drive me around more.”

“How about I drive you this time and we see how it goes?” I offer instead, trying to lower his expectations.

“I’ll take it.” He agrees surprisingly easily. No one else I know is ever so plaint and easy-going. I almost expect him to laugh in my face but he just grabs his bag and dashes out. I guess, to the right person, it could be cute.

Here’s what I learn about Mingyu on the short ride from Comet to Pledis: he loves the pop stations. He especially loves SHINee. He sings along softly to some bright, cute girl group song that I’ve never heard before. He doesn’t sing like Joshua or even Jihoon does when I get dragged to company karaoke night. It’s not loud or showy. I don’t think he really knows he can sing but he can.

He’s pretty in the passenger’s seat of my car. But not like a model, not like Jeonghan would be. He’s pretty like the glint of the sun in the window, pretty like a bright red hibiscus unfurling in the middle of summer. Pretty like something loud and hard to ignore. He’s not demure. He’s an _idol_ after all.

It’s not busy outside of Pledis. There are people walking past, of course, we’re still in the city. But there’s no one posed outside with a camera hoping to catch a candid glimpse of some idol coming or leaving. There’s no group of fans to mob Mingyu when he gets out. It’s not SM after all. And I guess what I thought I knew about idols maybe didn’t apply to Mingyu. I don’t really know anything about idols at all, I think.

Mingyu shrugs his bag onto his shoulder and hops out onto the sidewalk like a little kid jumping off the school bus. “Thanks, Wonwoo, see you…” he thinks about it, “soon probably.” He laughs with his hand posed to close the door and this is exactly the ending I expected for today. Mingyu always came and went with a bright smile and no complaints. But instead of slamming the door he turns back to me.

He’s not so bright anymore. He’s not even smiling. He’s got yearning in his eyes. He looks miserable and incomplete as he reaches back into the car. “I’ll miss you.” His voice is heavy with adoration and disappointment like we’re about to be separated for years, like we’re _really_ lovers. His hand grasps mine as he backs away, stretching his arm out to keep contact for as long as possible. “I love you.” It is a piercing confession even if his voice barely makes it over the sound of the radio.

I can’t say anything with my hand laying limply in his. I’m not a lead actor matching Mingyu’s heart-fluttering performance beat for beat. I might as well be a stuffed animal in some little kid’s bedroom play. I’m standing in for a person, at best. But it’s fine because I’m hidden in the car and Mingyu not only gets to steal the scene, he gets to be the only one in it. The performance goes on flawlessly without me. He shuts the door gently and I’m left alone with the pop station playing too loud. My face is burning so hot it’s fogging up my glasses. And I sit there listening to the rhythmic ticking letting me know my hazard lights are still on from where I haphazardly parked in front of Pledis.

I know Mingyu only did that for some outside observer but that was my first ever confession. That was my _first_ confession.

~

“It’s a good picture.” Emily appraises the morning after. “Good improv.”

“It was all Mingyu.” I admit easily.

“I figured.” She snorts. “You were trying to hide in the fucking steering wheel, weren’t you?”

I try to hide my face in my arms and groan in response.

“I can’t believe Andrew wanted you for a fairytale romance to capture the tabloids.” She pats my back gently. I think it’s supposed to be comforting but it’s mostly condescending. “I knew you were just gonna fumble and blush your way through this whole thing.”

“He said ‘I love you’ before he left there.” I tap at the photo she has open on her phone without lifting my head.

“Oh, we should’ve told him that makes you have a meltdown.” She laughs at her own joke and I guess it doesn’t matter if it’s actually funny or not. She had told she loved me before, once or twice, and watched the meltdown firsthand. Andrew threw it around too but he did it enough that I almost had a chance to get used to it.

The picture Emily shows me is beautiful. Honestly. It’s just Mingyu, reaching into my car, looking wrecked by his own longing. The streetlights sparkle in his eyes, his brows furrowed just slightly. And in the stretch of his arm there is somehow desperation, yearning and _love_. Every article speculates on who could be in the car, most of them are convinced it’s me.

I didn’t even see the cameras. But Mingyu put on a whole improvised performance. Made even me question what was real and what was acting. He was quick on his feet and a good actor and naturally bright. He could even sing. Mingyu was an absolute treasure. A complete package. There was no way Pledis knew how lucky they were to have him. If they did, they never would’ve tossed him at some second-rate rapper with a drug scandal. He was too good for me. And I hope the public thought it was a cute, redemption arc and not me dragging him down.


	4. Chapter 4

Emily meets me at the lobby of the company building. It’s only like eleven but it’s still weird to see her up before me. Especially when we weren’t promoting. She’s gossiping with the secretary behind the desk in pajama shorts and a too-big shirt with the company logo on it. She drags herself away from the counter when she sees me. “You’re here.” She smiles, linking arms with me.

“Yeah, but why are _you_ here?” I ask suspiciously.

“We’re doing an interview?” She responds like she’s already told me before, like I’m supposed to know.

“ _We’re_ doing an interview? In _that_?” Emily’s always been image-conscious, has been trying to compensate for her model past with an overly professional wardrobe ever since she’s been a manager instead.

“Let me rephrase,” she says gently, “you and _Mingyu_ are doing an interview.”

And, for a moment, my blood runs like ice through my veins. I could pose with Mingyu behind sunglasses or face masks, for one or two pictures. I could be that statuesque, cool, cold rapper boyfriend in candidly snapped paparazzi photos. But that’s about all I could manage. I couldn’t talk about really liking anyone—not even Emily, not even my fucking _cats_ —I didn’t have the emotional capacity to be interviewed about any relationship I’d ever been in.

She squeezes her arm to bring me back down to earth. “Hey,” she calls, “you’ll be fine. I’ll be there the whole time and I can probably get Andrew to stop by too. It’s just a phone interview.”

“I’m gonna pass out.”

“That’s fine.” She laughs. “I’m sure Mingyu can carry this interview all by himself.”

~

Emily invites Mingyu over for lunch in my studio and this is when we really, finally have to start lying. Before it was just implications, letting everyone else write the story they wanted. Now we’ve gotta write the story. Mingyu’s lounging on the floor against the couch and I’m opposite him with half-empty take out containers between us and Emily taking up all the space on the couch.

“Listen up, kiddos,” she mumbles around a mouthful of fries, “I’ve got your story.”

I manage to frustratedly groan at the same time Mingyu makes some sort of excited, encouraging noise.

“It’s cute, you’ll love it.” She defends, fixing me with a hard stare.

It _is_ cute, unfortunately. She tells us how she had to take me to a photoshoot with Jeonghan one time and D-Teen were at the same studio for a different photoshoot. And how I caught just a glimpse at Mingyu while the whole group was filing through the waiting room and wouldn’t stop asking Emily about him. So she left me in the makeup room and eventually he came in for a touch-up and I worked up the nerve to talk to him. And this gives Mingyu the chance to shyly, coyly interject that he’d always listened to me (“to MKTM” he says) he just never thought he’d get to meet me as an idol. And then we exchanged numbers and things went from there.

Emily finishes her story and sips at her near-empty milkshake. She frowns down at it and shakes it around a little bit before realizing that it really is empty. “Gimme a sec, coffee break.” She explains before heading out. She doesn’t even bother asking either of us if we want anything.

Once the door shuts behind her, Mingyu turns to me. “I really never thought I’d meet MKTM.” He confesses. “I didn’t even dream about it because I never thought he’d be caught dead with some second-rate idol kid.” His voice is just so sweet and honest it’s probably bad for my health.

I push the rest of my fries towards him. “Well, you’re the only idol kid I’d be caught dead with.” I laugh. It’s the closest I can come to his honesty. I had no clue about D-Teen before this whole mess, couldn’t pick Mingyu out from the lead actor on that drama Jihoon liked watching during lunch or any idol I’d awkwardly passed at a music show or that young upstart from the last season of _Show Me the Money_. But he’d been a blessing all the same. I could easily imagine myself being so taken with that charming, sharp smile of his that I hounded Emily for information on him. I can imagine myself on some rare TV appearance, telling everyone to support whatever D-Teen was currently promoting (even though I still can’t name a single one of their songs). I can imagine this going on for a long time.

The fries are lukewarm by now and probably soggy but Mingyu still takes them. And he eats them like it’s the best meal he’s ever been given.

Emily comes back in with a cup in her hand and Andrew on her arm. “I brought you Andrew!” Her voice is almost cheerful, she’s trying I can tell, but it mostly comes out flat.

Andrew looks ecstatic, though, he more than makes up for Emily. “Mingyu!” He claps Mingyu on the back in a congratulatory, fatherly way. “You knocked it out of the park, tiger.” Mingyu only gets the chance to smile bashfully before Andrew is talking again. “We really couldn’t have asked for a better partner in this.”

“Partner?” It slips out of Mingyu’s mouth with wonder and awe. I guess none of us had used that word before, had acknowledged that we were equals in this.

“Of course,” Andrew looks hurt or surprised at Mingyu’s palpable wonder like he is personally responsible for this kid’s suffering, “we couldn’t do this without you. Especially with Wonwoo being dead weight over there.”

I wad up a napkin and throw it weakly at his hip. It’s new and interesting to have to look _up_ at Andrew at least. Maybe he wasn’t the shortest man I’d ever seen after all. Maybe he really was 5’4 or whatever he claimed.

He comes over and ruffles my hair fondly. “I’m _joking_.” He defends. “I’ve seen the pictures, you’re selling this too.”

“So, I may have fucked up.” Emily admits quietly, picking at her nails behind Andrew.

“She made a tiny little mistake, maybe.” Andrew corrects. “I can’t be there for the interview because I’m supposed to record something for Josh today but you’ll do great without me, don’t worry.” He gives Mingyu a high five and moves to smooth my hair down before I flinch away. “I’ll treat you guys to dinner later, though.” He pumps his fist before heading out. “Fighting!”

Mingyu flashes a dazzling smile in my direction. “The last time I got to go to a company dinner was when I debuted.” He laughs.

“Andrew calls them ‘family dinners’ so I guess you’ll still have to wait.” I snort but I guess this _is_ the closest thing I have to a family.

“Meeting the in-laws already?” He jokes, pressing into my side and nuzzling his face in my neck.

“ _Meeting_?” I play along. “Your mother-in-law is right there.” I gesture to Emily.

I see Mingyu’s mouth poised excitedly around the word “mom” but Emily holds up her hand sternly. “Absolutely not. Don’t even try it.”

I lean my head on his. “She won’t even let anyone call her ‘noona’.” I whisper to him.

“I’m a foreigner, I don’t fuck with that stuff.” She defends but she’s not lying. I’ve known Emily for years at this point and I’ve never heard her say “oppa” or “unnie” to anyone. And the only one who got away with calling her “noona” was Andrew and even then he rarely got away with it. Her phone beeps and distracts her. “That’s the interviewer, we’re gonna work out the last business details and then it’s show time, boys.”

“Do you have any loves songs we can say were about me?” He flutters his eyelashes at me. “I mean, I think I’m worthy of a love song or two.”

I snort. “None you’d _want_ to be about you. Not even just for pretend.” I had love songs…I guess, if you wanted to call them that. They all happened in the fleeting moments when I watched Jeonghan walk away from me and I was convinced I’d never catch up. Love was a sickness, something I had been unwittingly afflicted with, something that only stunted my breathing and hurt me.

But Mingyu didn’t hurt. He didn’t hurt at all. He didn’t feel like smoke in my lungs or cancer in my bones. He left with easy smiles and a promise to be back soon and nothing ever _ached_. “Maybe on the next album.” I offer weakly. But then I’m forced to confront the fact that all I have so far are fragments of old lyrics and nothing even close to an album (and the fact that by the time there’s a next album, there might not be Mingyu here to write about).

~

The interview is surprisingly painless. I sit next to Mingyu in Andrew’s office while he holds Emily’s phone. Emily is lounging on the couch, waiting for one of us to fuck up or drop the ball so she can step in and whisper the right answer in our ear. After the formalities, the interviewer laughs cutely and asks us to confirm that we are, in fact, dating. And Mingyu gets to shyly laugh back and look at me lovingly before saying “yeah.”

She asks how long we’ve been dating and we lie and say three months. And we tell her Emily’s cute little story about us meeting. He does most of the talking because he sounds sweet and young and in love but even when I chime in, I sound gentler and sweeter. It’s easy to pretend to be in love with Mingyu when I look over at him and he looks just as in love with me.

“So, Mingyu, Wonwoo’s family must love you, right?” She asks, obviously taken with him.

The word “family” hits me like a fucking punch to the stomach. I haven’t heard a stranger say that word to me since I left for Seoul. Emily knew enough and she did a damn good job of making sure it was never brought up during any of my rare public appearances. And my mind just goes blank. I watch Emily flinch at the word too, bolting up on the couch and ready to come over and fix this slip up.

But Mingyu doesn’t even stumble. He grabs my hand and laces our fingers together, the other hand coming up to rub at my tensed shoulders. “Actually, we’ve all been too busy to really meet but his cats love me.” And that gets them started on a conversation about my cats and the dog Mingyu’s got with his family and I get a chance to come back to earth.

Emily looks at me apologetically but she stays on the couch. I think she trusts Mingyu to take care of this and I’ve never seen her entrust me (or Jeonghan or any of the other models she managed) to anyone but Andrew. Mingyu keeps rubbing slow circle into my hand with his thumb and I wonder, for a moment, if I’ve been blessed with an angel.

~

When Mingyu finally hangs up with the interviewer, I have no idea what the published interview will look like. Cute, probably. Mingyu saved us again. My hand is still in his but I’ve gotten used to it. I’m fine with forfeiting my personal space when he’s around. It’s never heavy enough to scare me off.

Emily comes over and cups my face in her hands frantically. “Oh, my baby,” she coos, “I was just so worried about getting a phone interview I forgot about everything else.” She kisses the top of my head.

Mingyu nuzzles his nose against my face and kisses my cheek so I’m trapped in an affectionate huddle. “What happened? Stage fright?” He asks sweetly. “You just froze up.”

“Yeah…” I answer quietly. “Something like that.”

He smiles, still all up in my face. “You’re cute all stunned and pliant like this.” He laughs, wrapping his arms around my waist instead.

“Alright, that’s probably more human contact than Wonwoo gets in a year.” Emily says, backing up and taking her phone back.

“He doesn’t even flinch when I touch him anymore.” Mingyu tells her proudly. He sounds like a little kid talking about a pet.

Emily ruffles his hair fondly. “Andrew really got us the best idol kid he could, huh?” Mingyu preens under the praise and Emily leads both of us out of the office. “Wonwoo, why don’t you show Mingyu the rooftop while I track down Andrew?” She suggests, gently pushing both of us towards the elevator.

“What’s on the roof?” Mingyu asks, bouncing on his heels while we ride the elevator up.

“There’s nothing up there.” I laugh. “It’s just a nice view. I guess Emily didn’t wanna trap you in my studio again.”

“I’m sure we could get some cute pictures up there.” He looks thoughtful. “Too bad no one will be there to take them.”

I want to say something like “it never stopped you before” or “we could take them just for us” but instead the elevator doors slide open to a surprised-looking Jeonghan. He’s added some purple to his silver hair since I last saw him. It makes him look like an ethereal, cosmic beauty. His eyes graze over me for less than a second before settling appreciatively on Mingyu. “He’s even prettier than the pictures.” He nearly purrs.

I feel Mingyu’s hand tight around my arm before I even get to say anything. “I look best next to hyunggie.” His voice is high and cutesy but tight somehow, like he’s breathless.

“That sure is cute but I know this is all a publicity stunt.” He smiles but it’s more like a sneer. I think he’s forgotten how to deal with someone who doesn’t immediately fall to his feet since he’s been with Comet. “So you don’t have to play it up for me.”

“This is Jeonghan.” I finally manage to get out through the thick tension in the air. “He’s the model Emily manages.”

“So this must be your pretty little idol, huh?” He asks, rotating around me to inspect him. “Mingyu was it?”

Mingyu’s positioned himself behind me which is ridiculous because he is both a little bit taller and a lot broader than me, there’s no way I can hide anything. But he slots himself into this submissive position anyway. He always has when we’re in the public eye. I guess he thinks it looks best like this with a sweet, submissive idol always looking up at me and calling me “hyunggie” with hearts in his eyes. “Kim Mingyu.” He offers but it’s still tight and uncomfortable.

“Cute.” Jeonghan gives us a fox’s smile. “Anyway,” he links his arm with my free arm, pulling both of us out of the elevator, “Wonwoo, I was wondering if you could set me up with that one rapper from _Show Me the Money_? You know like…sun something?” He asks sweetly.

I wasn’t even on the last season of _Show Me the Money_ , I hadn’t been on in more than a year and I have no idea who he’s talking about or why he’s asking now. “Uh…who?”

“He had that stage where he did a song about the sun or something. He’s competed more than once, you’ve gotta know him!” He playfully hits my shoulder and bats his eyelashes at me.

“Hanhae?” I answer dumbly. Hanhae is kinda low-hanging fruit for Jeonghan to be completely honest, he collaborated with pretty much anyone who asked. Jeonghan didn’t need to _me_ to get to him and I barely knew him to begin with. I didn’t even know if I still had his phone number.

“Yeah!” His eyes light up. “Make sure to get me his number.” And he’s gone from my side again, backing into the elevator with a blown kiss and a flirty wave goodbye. And it’s like every other time Jeonghan bothers getting close to me. A whirlwind of pretty giggles and hair flips, a request and he’s gone again.

Mingyu is still by my side, though, his fingers digging almost painfully into my arm. “The garden’s really pretty.” I offer, walking him to the terrace that leads to the rooftop. The garden, like many things in the company building, is an abandoned project started by Andrew. So there aren’t magnificent flowers or even anything you can eat, it’s mostly succulents and greens but it’s still pretty.

“Did you do _Show Me the Money_ this year?” Mingyu asks innocently, kicking his feet against the floor as he walks.

“Uh…no.” I answer, holding the door open for him. “I don’t even really know Hanhae, I don’t know why Jeonghan was asking me.”

Mingyu sticks close with me even though there’s no reason to anymore. “Hm.” It sounds like the audio equivalent of the thinking emoji—suspicious, curious and a tad angry.

“I never really liked shooting _Show Me the Money_.” I tell him. “I only ever go because Andrew gets asked to bring me.”

Mingyu looks at me with stars in his eyes. It’s still barely evening and he looks best in the natural sunlight. “Are you kidding?” He breathes. “Me and my members watch _Show Me the Money_ like most idols watch the MAMAs. I’d kill to be on there.”

“I don’t look as good on camera as you.” I offer.

“You look fine.” He smacks my arm lightly. “You’re competing with like…Bewhy and Loopy. You look _amazing_.”

“Really, though, it’s a hassle. I only ever agreed the first time to meet Tablo and then the producers liked having me on.” I shrug. “It’s not really fun, it’s just something nice to do between albums to make some extra cash.”

I see him ready to complain or press me for more information and I just can’t ruin his wonder. I don’t want to be the one to tell him that cool and calm Bewhy _loves_ doing aegyo behind the scenes or that when I used to room with OLNL he would get heated over video games and say shit that would _ruin_ his image. “I’ll just take you next time.” I offer.

He smiles and plops down on one of the little “window seats” Andrew insisting on having against the edge of the rooftop. They had a good view of the city at least. “You wanna hear something dumb?” Mingyu laughs.

“I’m sure I heard enough dumb things from you.” I tease.

He just laughs. “This is dumber, I promise.” He looks out over the city. “When I first met you and Emily I thought you were already dating. I didn’t know why you needed me at all.”

“You know she’s like almost forty right?” I remind him. “She’s like my mom or my older sister. She’s family at least.”

“She doesn’t look that old and…I don’t know, I just saw this pretty woman following you around and I thought you were a thing.” He laughs without looking at me. “Dumb, right?”

“You wanna know why else I couldn’t do this with Emily?” I whisper like it’s a secret.

“Because she’s already sick of you?” He teases, elbowing my side.

“No…well, yeah probably but the whole of South Korea is still convinced that Emily and Andrew are secretly married. The articles pop back up every time Emily makes a public appearance.”

“They’re…not married?” He asks skeptically.

“No. Neither of them are married. Or at least they’re only married to the company.” I wave off.

He kicks his feet against the concrete bottom of the bench, his eyes still on the skyline. “You think that’s where Andrew got the idea for this? Because people were always talking about him when Emily was around?”

“I don’t know, he’s never mentioned it to me.”

He hums and looks thoughtful. “Do you think that he’d still find me if you were really dating someone?”

I kinda wish he would just look at me. His posture still seems tense and uncomfortable even under the warm, late afternoon sun. “Probably,” I put my hand over his, “he always wanted an idol.”

He finally looks at me but his hand tenses up even worse under mine, until his nails are digging into the seat. “You’ve got pretty things here he could parade you around with, though. They’re just as good as an idol.”

And I guess that was the wrong answer because there’s this undeniable fire in his eyes. I’ve never seen it before. I’ve never said anything to Mingyu that wasn’t met with a sweet smile and compliance. “Yeah, but—” I try.

“Jeonghan’s real pretty, huh? He probably would’ve worked fine.” The words are low and venomous. They almost don’t even sound like Mingyu’s voice.

“No one knows who Jeonghan is.” I try to argue, curling my fingers around his hand.

He just snatches his hand away. “Well no one knows who the fuck I am either!” He finally explodes. “I’m just your pretty little lie! I’m just like what Emily was for Andrew, huh? Some pretty little rumor generator to keep his career afloat?” He’s standing up, his arms wide like he’s trying to make himself look bigger. Like he’s showing me all the places I could twist the knife in him. Like he’s ready for the worst.

“You’re different.” I placate.

And he deflates. But not entirely. His eyes look uncomfortably torn between apologetic and still righteously angry. “Look,” his hand comes towards me slightly then stops, “I have to go.” He finally settles on. And he’s dashing back down the stairs to the terrace before I can even wrap my head around what to say.

I’m no stranger to pissing people off. It’s almost my career, at this point. But Andrew and Emily always know how to get me to come down before I make it to a ten on the drama scale. And me and Jihoon’s banter is cutting but cold and witty more than angry. That fire in Mingyu was completely foreign to me. I never could’ve even guessed it was there with the submissive, squeaky clean and cute kid I’d known up to this point. It shocked me into gentle compliance. It shocked me into saying all the wrong things and then not doing anything at all. It might’ve ruined things entirely.

My intention while walking back into the office is to grab my stuff from my studio and go home early but Emily and Andrew are already waiting for me. “I got coffee!” Andrew offers enthusiastically, waving two take out cups in my face.

Emily’s already frowning slightly, creasing her pretty face. “Where’s Mingyu?”

“He left.” I answer robotically.

“Is he…ok?” She asks delicately.

“I don’t know.” I answer as honestly as I can.

She holds her arms out to me and I let her hold me for once. “Oh, my baby,” she sighs, petting my hair affectionately.

I don’t think Mingyu is okay. Because I never considered how precarious this whole set up was for him. When this was all over and we had our public romance and our public breakup, all I would lose is Mingyu. And I probably wouldn’t even lose him really, we could still be friends. But Mingyu would lose his spot in my studio. He would lose Emily and Andrew. He would lose the secretary auntie that always gave him chocolate when he came to Comet. He would lose the freedom and privilege that this little project gave him, the chance to take a step outside of the idol world. It would’ve been so easy for us to choose another idol, to pass by Mingyu entirely and never give him this chance. But—and I’m sure this hurts even worse—we can still pull the rug out from under him at any time and end this. I’m not Andrew and he’s not Emily. I can’t offer him a whole new life when this is over. Eventually he’ll have to go back to just being an idol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise jeonghan isn't the villain of the series lol this is like the last time he's important tbh


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i go back to school tomorrow so pray with me that it's gonna be one of those semesters where i write a lot

The article we did the interview for goes up a couple of days after we finish the interview. There isn’t too much to add or edit with an interview I guess. It’s cute—sickeningly sweet even—the kind of thing that probably only appeals to people who regularly watch dramas. Mingyu doesn’t text me about the article this time. I haven’t said anything to him since the last time he left Comet either. But the article doesn’t suggest anything like that. All of Mingyu’s words drip with honey and all of the pictures are taken from official photoshoots we did before we met each other. We get to live on in the eyes of the public as a cute, fictional ideal.

Jeonghan doesn’t text me either. He actually never bothers me for Hanhae’s number again, he never even _mentions_ him. And then him and Emily are both gone, doing a fashion week somewhere and I’m left with a lot of time on my hands. And the interview article always leads to articles about D-Teen. And every time I see another picture of Mingyu with the brown hair I’m used to or the blue-black I missed out on or the horribly ill-advised blond I want to text him _anything_. Maybe something simple like, _the interview is cute_. Or an offer like, _we should celebrate with dinner_. Or something juicy that will get his attention like _, emily and andrew might not be married but I’m pretty sure one of andrew’s tattoos is inspired by emily_. But I don’t know what Mingyu wants to hear. I don’t think I know him well enough to even infer.

There’s a lot of pictures of Mingyu on the internet. A lot more than I expect for a “struggling” idol. Every album jacket shooting leads to a seasons greetings leads to a fansign or a concert, I even find a few stray airport photos. There are enough for me to lose hours clicking from picture to picture. And when I stop doing that I finally listen to their songs. They have good rappers—none that sound like me or what I grew up on but ones that have a unique, charming playfulness that I could maybe listen to on a nice summer day. It’s nothing that would appeal to the _Show Me the Money_ crowd but that doesn’t mean it’s not good. Eventually, after all of their music videos and a handful of vlogs, I get good at telling all the members apart instead of looking at them as “Mingyu and the others.” Vernon is cuter than Mingyu in some ways—has the same light brown hair and hazel eyes that Emily does—and maybe I give him more attention than the others because of that.

Mingyu isn’t an idol in the way I always thought about idols. He wasn’t radically different in front of his fans than he was with me. He was always sweet and handsome, easy-going and cute, good at everything he got his hands on. There is something alarming about how similar he was though—he treated every one of his members exactly like he treated me. He was cuter for the older members, of course, had more aegyo. And he was more authoritative and caring with Vernon and the younger ones. But it’s the same sweetness and playfulness I’ve always gotten. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for Mingyu to get close to me. He already had practice. He even gives Hoshi the same huge, sparkling eyes when he gets called pretty. Seeing it makes my stomach turn.

I don’t treat Emily like I treat Mingyu. I don’t treat Jihoon like I treat Mingyu. I don’t even treat _Jeonghan_ the same way. When Mingyu leaves, whenever he does, I’ll _lose_ him. There will be nothing in my world like him in any way. And Mingyu will also lose but he won’t lose me—he’s got four others waiting at Pledis. He won’t feel the dull ache of a Wonwoo-shaped hole in his life. He won’t be lonely like I will. He won’t _miss_.

~

I think Andrew is the only reason Mingyu ever comes back to Comet after storming out on me. It’s AJ’s birthday and Andrew decides to throw an ice cream party for the whole company to celebrate. And Andrew’s always been a “the more the merrier” kind of guy—he might not even remember the state that Mingyu left in last time to be honest—so he invites him. But Mingyu shows up at least so that’s a good sign.

Emily lets him into the building and he _clings_ to her. He walks into the café where the party is happening, where all the ice cream is like he’s got all the confidence in the world but it doesn’t settle on him entirely. He looks good enough on Emily’s arm that’s easy to ignore, though, they look as good as Emily does with any of her models. I watch but I stick to AJ who is trying to talk me into doing a song with him to end my musical dry spell. Mingyu laughs with Emily and talks animatedly with Andrew and even manages to get Jihoon to smile a little bit. And then when his ice cream starts to melt, Emily gently pushes him towards me and he looks at me uneasily but he doesn’t try to get out of it.

When he gets close enough to me we both automatically start walking towards my studio. Mingyu’s ice cream is light yellow—maybe lemon or mango or passion fruit—and piled with fresh fruit. “So, who’s AJ?” His spoon is still sticking out of his mouth and he won’t meet my eyes as we walk.

“Half-shaved head? Blue hair?” I try but Mingyu still looks just as blank as before. “He’s Eqo.” I finally sigh.

He drops his spoon into his cup, stopping in his tracks entirely. “Shut the fuck up!” He cries. “You guys have _everyone_.”

“Everyone from LA.” I snort. And we’re talking. Not a lot. Not about anything important. But we already took that terrifying first leap. We moved past just ghosting each other for the rest of our lives.

“I, uh…” We both say at the time. That sends Mingyu into a fit of cute giggles. I’m not mad at him anymore. Actually, I never really was.

“Let me get the door open.” I tell him as he waits obediently in front of my studio.

When he plops down on my couch he looks loose-limbed and comfortable again. It’s something I’ve missed. He’s only been gone less than a week. Something we’d probably have to live with even if we were just regular friends and I already fucking miss him. Wild. Unheard of. Ridiculous.

“I listened to your songs.” I tell him, hovering by the door. “All of them.”

“It took you this long?” He teases, eyebrows raised. I’m on the verge of a frantic apology, my mouth already open. “I’m kidding.” He laughs, opening his arms to me. “Get over here.”

I hesitate in the doorway, in the middle of a step but not quite moving forward.

“Don’t tell me you got all shy with me in a couple days.” He sighs. “You were doing so good.”

I was. Everything was so easy with Mingyu because _he_ was so easy. He was handed to me on a silver platter with easy smiles and an unshakably sunny demeanor. I was so comfortable with Mingyu because there was no trace of him being unhappy with me ever. At least not in a way that wasn’t playful and fun. This isn’t the best description, but Mingyu was like a puppy to me—obedient, loyal and liked me unconditionally. But now I know the conditions under which he likes me. I know what it feels like when he walks away. It fucking hurts. And now it’s easier to regard him with the same wariness I usually look at people with.

“I’m not mad anymore.” He offers, his arms still open to me. “I promise.”

I sit on the other side of the couch and don’t really hug him but the couch is small and he nuzzles into my neck in no time. He’s got his arms wrapped around my waist and his leg thrown over mine. He looks up at me and just smiles. “My hyunggie,” he sighs. I move to complain or correct him but he gets to it first. “My jagi.”

I half-heartedly sling my arm over his shoulder and let him snuggle in closer. I don’t mind the octopus clinging for now. At least I know where I stand with him. But I don’t know how I’ll be in the future. I’m not sure it will always be like it is now. “You can’t get out of everything by being cute.”

“I’m sorry?” He offers sheepishly. “I should probably start with that, huh?” And I can _hear_ that Mingyu doesn’t do well with words in the apprehension and the breaks in his sentences. “I just…don’t know what happened last time. I’m sorry.” He tries again.

“You know what happens between us has nothing to do with you and the company right?” I shift him so he can better bury his face in my neck. “Like even if I won’t talk to you, Emily will still let you in whenever you show up at the door. You’re family now.”

“I guess I just never thought about how much I like being here with you guys and how easy it would be to lose it all.”

“It’s okay.” I smooth down some of his hair. “I was never mad really.”

He rubs his nose into my neck happily and I realize that there really is no other word for the position we’re in besides “cuddling.” Which is something I really only did with my cats if I did it at all. “So, what song was your favorite?” He asks cutely.

I don’t bother to change our position. “What song is _your_ favorite?” I shoot back.

“Ew,” he laughs, swinging his legs up over mine and leaning back on the couch more casually. It’s a pose I would attribute to couples who had been together a long time. “There aren’t any cameras, you don’t have to be so tacky.”

“I should promote the song you like at least.” I defend.

Mingyu looks down thoughtfully at his quickly melting ice cream and in that moment of near-silence I get either the worst or best idea I’ve had in a long time.

“What if we don’t just do this for the cameras?” I rush out.

“Then just tell me your favorite song of ours. I already know all of yours.” He brushes off, an upset little frown forming on his face.

“Not just the song,” I explain, “ _everything_.”

“Why?” He starts, turning towards me. “How?” He decides on instead. “We were literally set up by our companies like this has been fun and all but you’re trying to escape a scandal still, we’re not just playing around.”

“There aren’t any cameras now but we’re still together. We can still play around.”

He shoots up from his position at the other end of the couch, crawling in to my lap seamlessly and gracefully. “Are you finally gonna fuck me on this couch?” He murmurs, running his finger down my chest, his eyes already half-lidded.

“Th-that’s not what I had in mind.” I stammer. I will never get used to those “reverse charms” or whatever Mingyu called them. I’ll never get used to him being sexy. Really.

He deflates and sighs. “What do you have in mind then?”

“Well, I was thinking—wait, _can_ you date? Like outside of this?”

He hums. “I mean there’s nothing in my contract about dating but the company usually keeps up too busy to even try.” He takes in a deep breath. “And when they don’t well…the fans make it clear what they want from us.”

I never listened to my fans. I rarely even _thanked_ my fans. We had a playfully combative relationship when we had a relationship at all. Andrew always told me he thinks it’s part of my draw. I couldn’t imagine letting my fans dictate any part of my life, especially my private life. “Have you dated then?” I ask unsurely.

“Are we just here to shame me for my lack of experience?” He laughs but then leans forward into my space again. “Or are you into my lack of experience?” He asks with his eyebrows raised, clearly interested.

He’s got me flustered and blushing again. “This is not about fucking you.” I manage to hiss, feeling my cheeks flame up.

“What is this about then?” He rolls his eyes. “ _Dating_?”

“Um,” I squeak, “yeah, kinda. If you want to.”

“I’m interested.” He laughs, pinching my cheek playfully. “God, you’re so cute like that.”

“I was just thinking since I never really got the opportunity to date either that we could do stuff with each other that we always imagined doing with our significant others.” I suggest gently.

“But not fucking?” He butts in.

I lean over and put my hand over his mouth. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” I repeat. “I was thinking like…what’s your ideal date?”

He licks my palm in a way that is not sexy at all. “With you, babe?” He manages, still muffled by my hand.

“I will look up all those videos where you and the rest of your group talk about your ideal types and dates and all that shit and hold you to it.” I threaten.

He pries my hand off his mouth distastefully. “Fine.” He sighs. “I’m a quiet affair kind of a guy. I want to stay in and make them dinner. Maybe we can see a movie before that, I don’t know. I just know that I’m a bomb cook and it will impress anyone.”

It is a surprisingly cute idea from Mingyu who I expected to want to go clubbing or somewhere else public and loud. “You can cook?” I ask instead of voicing any of that.

“I cook for the whole group and we’re dancers so they eat a lot.” He bats his eyelashes at me. “Go ahead and call me a ‘pretty little wifey.’” He goads. “C’mon, I know you wanna, oppa.”

“I do not want to.” I deadpan, a few shreds of self-control away from putting my hand over his mouth again.

He sticks his tongue out at me childishly. “Fine, what’s your ideal date then?”

It’s not something I put a lot of thought into and maybe I should’ve. But I feel like whatever I was imagining before, it’s changed to fit Mingyu specifically. “I think I’d wanna walk around Hongdae, look at all the buskers, maybe get some snacks. I don’t know.”

“That is…” He takes a moment to look at me thoughtfully, “nicer than I ever thought you would come up with.”

“So, you wanna go on dates?” I ask, hope bubbling up in my chest like I never expected. “Just for us this time?”

“And?” He smirks, climbing back into my lap.

“And?” I repeat, dumbfounded and frozen.

“And whatever else I want, yeah?” He tilts my chin up gently. It is smooth and seductive, almost practiced. But I know now that he hasn’t had the time to practice. His eyes land on my lips then travel back up to my eyes for permission then back down to my lips.

I’m still frozen with my lips slightly parted, my hands naturally finding a spot on his hips. I’m not really uncomfortable though. I’ve seen this coming for a long time. I, honestly, just opened the door for all of this. Mingyu can kiss me as many times as he wants. It won’t turn my world upside down. It might even be nice. I feel his breath ghost over my lips and that’s enough to send a shiver down my spine. (Emily is right, I don’t get nearly enough human contact.) And with his lips barely over mine I hear the electronic beep of my studio door opening.

“They made up alright.” Emily laughs from the doorway and somewhere down the hall I hear a muffled celebration from Andrew.

Mingyu’s lips never even meet mine before he crumples into laughter, leaning his head on my chest. And with my arms circled around his waist I almost feel like I didn’t miss out on anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if i ever get around to explaining this properly but andrew has a tattoo on his ribcage of two cats cuddled up together in the shape of a heart and he always tells people that it's a tribute to one of his pet cats that passed away but andrew's always raised dogs, not cats so the real meaning is up in the air


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh....so shit gets real in this chapter and there is referenced spousal and child abuse so proceed with caution and if you wanna just skip that scene there's ** around it

After Mingyu leaves AJ’s birthday party, we actually start talking when we’re not face to face and forced to. It’s something I never expect. He texts me all the time—whenever he feels like—not just when an article about us gets published. It’s easy to not even think about the fact that there are new articles about us swirling around every day and photographers waiting to snap a candid pic of us. It’s easy to forget where this all began with a new message from Mingyu always waiting on my phone.

The next time he comes over to Comet it’s technically Pledis’s request but I think it’s Mingyu’s idea. The company let Mingyu open a personal Instagram recently. They actually let all the members open an Instagram but Mingyu is firmly convinced that it’s all because of him. And no one can convince him otherwise. So he meets me in front of a café that’s only like two blocks from Comet that everyone from the company frequents. When I get there, Mingyu’s already standing outside in a loose-fitting white t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans, big sunglasses covering most of his face. He looks like any other fashionable twenty-something in Seoul during the summer, peeking over his sunglasses to look at his phone.

“Did you wait long?” It’s easy to act like a caring boyfriend to Mingyu. It’s almost second nature at this point to wrap my arm around his waist and greet him like this is a real date.

“I did.” He peers at me from over the sunglasses. “You are definitely late.” He pouts.

“You didn’t warn me at all, you literally _just_ texted me that you were here.” I open the door for him as an apology. “What am I supposed to do? Teleport?”

He shakes my hand from his waist. “You’re supposed to use the power of love.” He teases.

It’s cool inside the café, enhanced by the mostly stark white décor. It’s a cutesy kind of café, not exactly the place you’d expect to be so frequented by everyone in one of the leading hip hop companies but they’re like two blocks away and they make good drinks. Even if their takeout cups all come with a cartoony daisy on the front and the café itself is decorated with little pops of pastels and pictures of baby animals. Mingyu passes right by the décor though and squints at the menu confusedly.

“I can’t believe we haven’t been here before.”

“What?” His eyes wander over the dessert case and back to me. “Is it good?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I snort, “it’s Emily’s favorite so we’re always here.”

“I didn’t think this would be her style either.” His eyes land on a picture of ducklings in a field with mild distaste. “I imagined something more…luxurious for her, y’know?”

“She loves these stupid fucking chocolate lattes here so much, I don’t even know where to start,” but before I can even try to explain Emily’s love for the chocolate lattes, we’re next in line.

Mingyu orders a strawberry cake and an Americano and I get a red velvet frap that’s new and seems like it’ll look good in photos.

“That is the sweetest coffee drink I have ever heard of.” He stage whispers to me once we’ve sat down in a booth under a picture of bunnies. “You don’t have to get coffee if you don’t wanna.”

“Do you want an at least semi-alive boyfriend for these pictures or not?” I whisper back. “I need everything I can get my hands on if I’m gonna look good next to you.”

He drops his phone on the table face-down, none too gently. “You are handsome and I will _beat_ it into you if I have to.” He hisses, his face too close to mine.

I’m about to respond with something stupid like, “you should kiss it into me instead,” or whatever other idiotic thought is posed on the tip of my tongue but my phone buzzes instead. My screen lights up with a picture of my cats with a message from Emily over it, _can u get me a choco latte pls? love you <3_, like it always does. Mingyu glances down at the message too.

“So, like two years ago for Christmas, Andrew got an espresso machine for the cafeteria in the company _just_ so Emily could have her fucking lattes whenever she wants and every time I leave my house or the company Emily still texts me to get a chocolate latte. That’s how much she loves these stupid drinks.”

“Andrew bought her an _espresso machine_?” He repeats, eyes wide with shock.

“He bought her a car once but she hates driving in Seoul so it’s pretty much Andrew’s now.” I wave off.

“A _car_? And they’re not even _dating_?” He hisses like he doesn’t want to believe it.

“Emily’s spoiled to _hell_ but she’s done more for Andrew than most people at Comet know so…I guess he’s just thanking her.”

“You’re really raising my expectation for presents. I’m expecting something designer _at least_ for my birthday.”

“That’s Andrew, not me—” I start to explain but a barista in a sundress with a painfully apparent blush on her face sets down the cake and the drinks in front of us before I can finish. She mumbles something I’m sure is an inconsequential “enjoy your meal” or something like that and rushes off. And that’s a celebrity experience I haven’t had in a while. Especially not in this café where they see Eqo or E-Clips at least once a week.

The frap is a pale, creamy red that looks more like a milkshake than a coffee and if fans assume that it’s Mingyu’s drink, I’ll just let them. The cake has that “impossibly smooth and perfect” finish that all café desserts have and a fresh strawberry settled on the top. And Mingyu’s watery, brown Americano looks like it belongs in an entirely different universe next to them.

“Don’t wait for me,” he invites, “I just wanna look at these filters first.”

The frap tastes like a liquid carnival—buttery, sugary and chocolaty. It’s probably for people who don’t drink coffee regularly or particularly adventurous children but I am well aware of my overwhelming sweet tooth and I like it. I eye the cake for a moment but don’t touch it. I usually don’t get sweets because I’m just too lazy to run down to a café or a bakery for more than a coffee but that cake looks _good_.

Mingyu glances at me and chuckles quietly. “You can have the cake too, I only ordered it for photos.” The cake _is_ good—velvety and soft and full of fresh strawberries. He laughs at me. “Cute,” he appraises before snapping a candid of me with my mouth full of cake.

“You’re not posting that one.”

“Of course not,” he agrees easily, “I can’t use it for blackmail if I just post it now.” He turns his phone to himself. “Ah,” he tells me cutely, eyeing the cake.

I wave the cake in front of his mouth before turning it back to me and taking the bite. Just to tease him a little bit.

“Haha, yes, very funny,” he placates, not sounding amused at all, “now a piece for me please.” It isn’t exactly a kind request despite the please.

I take another bite myself. “This is really good, though.” I’m still mostly messing with him but also some primitive part of my brain really doesn’t want to share this.

“It’s just for the picture. I don’t even like sweets.” He explains exasperatedly.

I pause with a forkful halfway to my mouth. “You don’t?”

“I used to work as a barista a while ago and they let us have the stale pastries so I don’t like them anymore.” He shrugs. “It’s fine, I was never big on sweets anyway.”

“Then what makes you so sweet?” I ask breathless. It’s not supposed to come off so cheesy, it’s just the first way I think to ask how that’s true when it’s so antithetical to his image.

“You.” He answers easily, poking his finger into his cheek. “Now, cake please.” And I guess it’s just second nature for both of us to act like this is real. I feed him the cake and he snaps a picture that only catches half my face in the frame. He catches another one of our hands casually overlapped in front of our drinks. The best one, I think, is a candid picture he gets of me looking at something happening outside the window that he puts a heart filter over.

I don’t know what I should post but I feel like I should post _something_. I’ve never known how to look in love in front of the public. We’ve always left that to Mingyu. He’s supposed to be the cute, sweet, idol-in-love and I can easily play his mysterious, quiet, rapper boyfriend. Only Mingyu really has to fall in love with me so that the public can fall in love with Mingyu. I’m bad at social media anyway. I settle on a black and white photo of our drinks and the half-eaten cake and a picture I accidentally took of Mingyu laughing at something I said about an idol group I ran into once at a music show—April or Apink or something—that leaves him a crumpled blur. When I turn the picture black and white it reminds of something I’d use for an album cover. I post both of my pictures on my instagram story like I always post pictures of my cats and don’t caption either of them. Mingyu posts his regularly with a single heart emoji as the caption.

“I can’t believe I had to threaten you into feeding me cake.” He scoffs, shaking the ice in his Americano around. “You are the worst boyfriend, I should tell Andrew I want to trade you out.”

“If it wasn’t just me and AJ’s American friends but me and AJ in that video, you’d be doing this with him instead.” It’s not exactly my favorite activity, examining all the miracles that had to line up so perfectly to get Mingyu in my life like this. All the times this could’ve slipped from my fingers without knowing—if AJ didn’t go visit his sister that afternoon, if I had stayed with Emily instead, if Andrew had wanted a same-age partner for me and asked Pledis for Hoshi instead, if Pledis thought that Vernon was prettier or more charming than Mingyu and had offered him up instead. It’s hard to think of doing this with anyone but Mingyu now. It’s hard to think about never meeting him.

“I think Eqo probably would’ve given me more exposure but I don’t think it would’ve been as cute.” He appraises easily. It’s not exactly a compliment. I know AJ and I have very different images and watching him fall in love probably wouldn’t be as interesting to the public. And it’s not really a declaration either. But it takes the sting out of thinking of all the ways this could’ve passed us both by.

“Who would I call if I wanted to exchange you?” I prod, scooping up the last bit of cake.

“My manager.” He answers distractedly, looking down at his phone. “I mean, my manager is here to pick me up. I gotta go.” He stacks up all the dishes together on the table and tugs me out of our booth.

“You actually got a ride this time?” I scoff, following him out of the door.

“The company thinks driving with you is a liability.” He teases. “I mean, you didn’t even _park_ last time.”

I try to splutter out some kind of response about how he was putting on a whole elaborate, improvised performance and I was just trying not to ruin it but the most that comes out are incoherent, offended noises.

He just laughs it off. “Well, see you next time.” And he leaves me with a light peck on the cheek before climbing into the back of the van parked illegally outside the café.

“Bye.” I manage, a hushed whisper that I’m sure he doesn’t even hear.

~

When I get back to Comet, Emily is sitting in the lobby and stares me down expectantly when she sees me. “Are you _hiding_ my latte?” She asks skeptically, trying to peek behind my back.

“Don’t you have work to do?” I shoot back.

“Not until you write a fucking album.” She counters easily. “So, latte?”

I hold my empty hands to her. “I forgot it.”

“You _forgot_ it?” She repeats threateningly, straightening out her posture so she’s closer to my height. “After I basically raised you all by myself, you forgot my latte?”

“Mingyu rushed me out of the café—” I try to explain.

“No excuses.” She cuts me off. “Andrew, you’re his manager now. I can’t even look at him.” She shouts over to where Andrew is casually chatting with one of the building’s security guards.

Andrew takes all of her dramatics in stride and just comes over to affectionately ruffle my hair. “So, did you take cute pictures?” He asks conversationally.

Emily storms off, grumbling. “I can’t believe my one and only son is so disrespectful. I’m only dealing with models from now on.”

“Mingyu took cute pictures and I took some…pictures.” I settle on unsurely.

Andrew just shrugs. “I probably shouldn’t get my hopes up for you being cute anyway.”

But the pictures I put up quietly on my story get reposted by every fan account I’ve ever had. And articles posting both mine and Mingyu’s pictures next to each other start going up almost immediately. I don’t know what the big fuss is anyway. We already admitted to dating. I don’t know what the excitement is now, in trying to prove it.

~

It’s my semi-monthly lunch with Jihoon where Emily orders us sushi and we shit talk everyone we know on the roof of the building by the garden. It’s a good bonding activity and probably the closest I’ll get to real therapy in the foreseeable future. And Mingyu calls me. Which is weird. No one ever calls me. I’m a twenty-two year old kid, we know who to text. Andrew’s the only one that ever calls me and that’s because he’s ancient. Emily calls me sometimes too but only if it’s an emergency or she’s pissed. Mingyu calling me doesn’t worry me, not really. I don’t think of myself as the kind of person he’d call in a dire situation. I think he’s trying to fuck with me or one of his members are at least. “What’s up?” I answer.

He almost doesn’t even let me finish talking, clipping into the end of my sentence with, “come pick me up.” It’s breathless and rushed and definitely Mingyu.

“Whoa, I thought me driving you was a liability—”

He does really cut me off this time. “Come pick me up.” He repeats. There’s a fragile and sharp edge to his voice like bits of broken glass are stuck in it. 

I suck in a sharp breath. I guess he’s not fucking with me. And I’m worried. I’m _really_ worried about him. “Where are you?” I finally ask.

“Pledis.” He answers shortly.

“Just hold on a little bit. I’ll be there soon.” It’s a promise I’m not confident in making with Seoul traffic and all but I can’t just tell him nothing. 

“Wow,” Jihoon quips from his spot across the table, “what’d you do to piss off Emily that bad?” 

“It’s not Emily.” I tell him shortly, snatching my wallet and keys off the table. “It’s Mingyu. You can eat the rest of my lunch, I don’t think I’ll be back soon.” It is the fastest I have ever left Comet, I don’t even bother telling Emily or Andrew that I’m leaving. I just tear down to the basement and run through the parking garage so fast I’m spinning around the corners.

Nothing goes fast enough—my car doesn’t start fast enough, the garage gate doesn’t open fast enough, the lights never change at the right time. I’m not good under high pressure situations. Emily and Andrew always did everything they possibly could to let their artists be artists, to shield them and never leave them out to be torn apart. My skin is thin and delicate. My defenses have gotten weak and mushy ever since I signed with Comet.

The radio is still set to some pop station from the last time Mingyu was in here. Every song comes out icy and plastic, there’s no joy in them like when he was here but I don’t have the attention span to do anything about it. And if I hear another bright, sweet, summery girl group song I think I will lose my mind. I can’t stop thinking about all the things that happen to idols. All the things that Andrew only mentions when he’s a little tipsy or something big happens—things that will never happen to me or Jihoon, but things that happened to Andrew and all the kids he worked with when he was just getting started. The stalking. The death threats. The fan with a knife. Attempted kidnappings. And it was always idols. Idols always got it the worst. And it could’ve been Mingyu this time.

When I pull up haphazardly in front of Pledis, Mingyu is standing in front of the building. There is no fire. He’s not crowded by reporters or fans. There are no emergency vehicles. I don’t even see his members or his manager or anything. It’s just Mingyu standing outside in the same oversized sunglasses I saw him in last time. But he’s standing outside which is…weird. He could be waiting in the lobby for me, peering out the wall-length windows. Or chilling in a practice room somewhere. Instead he’s outside, hunched over his phone in an oversized white t-shirt and the stylish sweats most idols owned. When he sees my car and rushes up, he doesn’t seem obviously injured or anything. He just seems off.

_He’s not smiling_ , it hits me when he opens the door. He’s not smiling and there’s no playful openness in his demeanor. He’s closed off and cold. The way I normally am. And up close it’s easier to tell he’s been crying—a lot. His skin is blotchy with red under his shirt and his eyes are bloodshot through the glasses.

There’s a beat of sickening silence where he doesn’t say anything. Where I don’t know how bad this really is, I don’t know anything at all. The radio is still too loud—pounding some repetitive _High School Rapper_ song into my head. He drops his phone in his lap and barely over the music he says, “they disbanded Pristin.”

I don’t know what he means. Not really. My heart stops for a second when I think he said “they disbanded D-Teen” but I keep replaying his words over and over in my head and I hear “Pristin” instead. I don’t know who “Pristin” are and I don’t know who “they” are either. But the word “disbanded” leaves the sterile and unpleasant image of a dismembered doll in my head.

He fumbles his hand forward and turns the music down to something more manageable—a hum or a whisper. “They debuted after us.” He clarifies. But it doesn’t clarify much for me. I can figure out that this is related to his group, related to D-Teen, not some burden he has to carry alone but that’s all I understand so far.

I don’t say anything, I just offer my hand, resting limply in his lap while I start the car. He grips my hand like he’s trying to break all my bones, his knuckles white and his fingertips red. His face is still turned to the window but I can see the tight line of his mouth, the tension in his jaw. I think he’s trying not to cry.

It’s the same kind of miserably hot and humid it’s been since June. But for once I don’t feel it. The temperature plummets to something icy. Mingyu’s hand is clammy in mine—somehow cold still. I can’t imagine any of this happening in winter, though. I can’t imagine _Mingyu_ existing in winter with his effortless sunshine and gentle warmth. This is a light, summer romance—something a teenage girl would read while laying on the beach—there isn’t supposed to be a chapter where our pretty, pretty lead sits in the passenger’s seat like a statue. But the car stays silent the whole ride to my apartment.

I still don’t know what to do with Mingyu. I don’t know what he wants from me. I hope it’s not comfort because that’s not exactly my strong suit. But in some weird way, I almost know that he doesn’t expect me to turn around and be soft and caring and emotionally available. He might be naïve and inexperienced but he wasn’t dumb. He was a quick learner and he had read me easier and better than anyone else from the moment he met me. He wouldn’t expect the impossible of me.

He disconnects our hands to get out of the car but before I even notice it, he’s back at my side with a death grip on me. I can’t see any more tears on his face but he still seems stoic and numb. It’s a good front but I guess that comes with the idol territory. He keeps it steady until I key in the code to my apartment and Tobi peeks out from the kitchen to greet us. She’s always been more curious and friendlier than her sister.

Mingyu pushes the sunglasses onto his forehead to reveal horribly bloodshot eyes and motions towards Tobi. “Who’s that?” He tries to ask me but the question is barely out of his mouth before he’s choked by a sob. It hits him hard and fast—dragging him down from where he’s crouched on the floor to fully on his knees, sobbing. He drags me down with him, burying his face in my shoulder and just _weeping_ like he’s held it in for years.

**

I’m not consciously reminded of something with his wet face in my t-shirt. It’s more like the memory is forcibly ripped out of me, leaving bleeding wounds in its place. I’m eight again, or maybe I’m seven, and it’s one of the few times in my life someone has really sobbed to me like I’m equipped to deal with it at all. It’s Hyojin and he’s still small enough to fit in my arms, probably only half my size still. He’s crying like he’s dying. But the truth is, he’s just afraid and I’m the only one he can turn to. _I’m_ the only he can turn to, a pitiful turn of events for a toddler that hasn’t had enough time to do anything to deserve that. Mom and dad are just down the hall in the kitchen. The fight is muted for once. Icy instead of burning. It’s also one of the rare times that my dad has been dragged into interacting with his family. And _that’s_ bad news.

It seems like he’s gonna hit mom again. There’s the inescapable threat of violence hanging in the air. And Hyojin is only a toddler, he can only feel the tension, can’t do anything about it. So he turns to me with his wide, doe eyes spilling over with tears. I’m not a reliable older brother, I’m not someone to turn to but he’s not old enough to know that yet. I’m all he has. He’s crying loud and only getting louder. And we’re only down the hallway from our parents. It’s only the thin door of our playroom separating us from whatever version of our father is out there. I can hear his cries echoing around the house. And I’m so afraid that if he gets any louder our dad will come in here and turn his anger on us.

I’ve been shushing him since he started crying. As gentle as I can. But he’s not listening. He probably can’t stop, can’t be any quieter. He’s only three for fuck’s sake. But I’m only eight. And I’m doing what I can. “Jinnie, Jinnie, you’ve got to be quiet.” I _plead_ , my voice a quiet hiss in the icy atmosphere.

But he _wails_ into my shirt, one hand gripping a penguin plushie he sleeps with at night and the other in my shirt.

“Jinnie,” I hiss again, “ _shut up_.” But he doesn’t. He _can’t_. I’m probably only making it worse. And I think I hear footsteps in the quiet, venomous argument my parents are having for the millionth time. And I’m scared worse than Hyojin, trying to calm my own ragged breathing to hear if anyone is outside the door. But I can’t hear _anything_ over his crying. “Jinnie, you’ve gotta—” I’m pleading again but my hand is already moving towards his face. I’m desperate. This is the only thing I can think of. So I put my tiny, little child’s hand over his even smaller mouth, mixing the snot and spit and tears trailing down his face. His crying gets muffled but not any quieter.

**

When I finally fight through the memory to make it back to the real world, nothing has changed. I’m still on the floor of the entryway with the door open behind us. Mingyu is still crying into my shirt. Now Tobi is joined by Esca, both of them eyeing us curiously from their perch on the kitchen counter. But now, with every fiber of my being, I’m fighting the urge to put my hand over Mingyu’s mouth.

He’s not even crying that loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started writing this while pristin were still together and hinapia already debuted lol


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is far from being abandoned i'm just gonna move to a weekly update schedule to hopefully catch up with it again ty everyone for your patience <3

I still don’t know what to do with Mingyu. It’s becoming a cosmic joke. I’m lifetimes away from that eight year old in a situation he had no control over. Mingyu isn’t Hyojin, they’re barely alike. But I’m still just as bad at comforting someone as I was back then. I’m an emotionally stunted mess and for once I can’t hand my problems over to Emily or Andrew. In some feat of tangled limbs and barely conscious minds, I manage to stand back up and finally close the door behind us. I lead him to my room and he easily collapses on the bed himself. Tobi and Esca are still watching us, keeping a cautious but curious distance from us.

I stay with him until his crying gets quieter and quieter. Until the stains on my shirt finally dry. Until the grip he has my shirt loosens. He cries himself to sleep like an exhausted child—like an overworked idol kid—I correct myself. And then I just leave him on my bed, the blankets haphazardly pulled around him. I don’t know what else to do. My house isn’t for company. I don’t even have a guest room. It was always just for me and my stuff. And Emily. And her two kittens when I realized she wouldn’t be here all the time and I was trying desperately to fill the space. But now Mingyu’s here. He’s the first one.

I try sitting at the table in the kitchen I almost never use. The only meals I eat at home are buns from the convenience store and ramen while I’m at my computer playing video games. I’d like to be playing video games right now because I think it’s the only thing distracting enough to soothe my anxiety. But my computer is in the bedroom and I don’t want to wake Mingyu. So I absent-mindedly scroll though Twitter without taking anything in. But I think being so close to my room is making me more antsy so I move to the couch and put OGN on the TV that Andrew got me as “housewarming present” even though I told him a million and a half times that I didn’t need it.

It’s only a COD tournament and it’s hard to pay attention to but I try. I try, at least, to not fixate on the tear-stained Mingyu that’s asleep in my bed. Tobi sits in the corridor, swishing her tail and watching me curiously. She joins me on the couch when I call her but that’s about all she does. The cats might technically be mine but I still think they only really care about Emily. Esca remains somewhere out of sight but it wouldn’t surprise me if she was perched on the headboard of my bed, watching Mingyu curiously while he slept.

While I’m not paying attention to COD, I do my best to make sense of everything Mingyu’s told me so far. It’s a problem with his group, with his career, I’ve figured that much out. But it doesn’t _really_ make sense to me. I couldn’t imagine breaking down over my career. I was always convinced I was failing anyway. When I made my journey to Seoul, I wanted to rap sure but there was a bigger picture to look at. As long as I could stay in Seoul—even if I was working in a café or a supermarket or as a fucking rap teacher for idol kids—then I won. I was happy. I got everything I wanted. Music was just the cherry on the sundae.

Mingyu wasn’t running from anything, he was just chasing a dream. His parents went to his concerts. His sister went to fanmeets. He was still close enough to visit them when he wasn’t promoting. If D-Teen doesn’t work out, he can just go home and become a chef, a model, an actor—anything he sets his mind to. And if he really wants to stay in Seoul and keep doing music, he can just stay here with me. Obviously.

It doesn’t occur to me how deeply Mingyu has embedded himself into my life until I’m already picturing living with him. It’s an easy and sunshiney fantasy. It’s not even romantic really. I distinctly imagine two separate beds occupying my room. But I also see Mingyu standing between my legs while I teach him about making beats. It’s not clear what I think this is now. Besides some sort of real relationship I guess (which it isn’t, it’s not the time to be thinking about it but this is all still fake).

Mingyu will probably be hungry when he wakes up, I focus on instead. And dig out a frozen box of dumplings someone must have left at my house at some point. I think it’s freezer burnt but it’s all I have besides ramen.

~

The dumplings are probably lukewarm by now, sitting in an improvised soup broth. And OGN has finally moved on to a _League of Legends_ tournament that I can really pay attention to. Tobi is still comfortably settled on the couch with her sister nowhere to be found when I hear Mingyu’s voice from behind me, padding quietly down the hallway. “You’re really hopeless, huh?” He asks, his voice quiet and amused.

He’s still in his shirt and sweatpants but he’s got pillow marks on his face now and he’s less tense. His skin’s stayed the same patchy, blotchy red though. He’s smiling just enough for me to see his sharp canines.

“Huh?” I manage dumbly.

“You left me for _League_?” He asks but it doesn’t really sound like a question. “Pretty miserable, huh?” He prompts.

“You’ve got the prettiest smile.” I murmur without really meaning to. But I can’t stop staring. It’s only been like half a day without it and I already feel like I’m starving.

The red splotches on his skin get darker “Compliments aren’t gonna get you out of this one.” He sits down on the couch next to me. “You left me in your bed to go watch games.” He still sounds fond though. “I really should tell Andrew I want to trade you out.”

“I made you dumpling soup. I thought you might be hungry.” I offer as some kind of apology.

“You _made_ it?”

“I mean, I defrosted it, whatever you wanna call that.” I answer sheepishly.

“Not _making_.” He snorts.

“You were bragging about your cooking. I was banking on just marrying you.” I joke. But maybe it hits a little too close to home—sharing my couch with him while he’s still sleep-mussed, Tobi sitting between us. Instead the comment lands in our conversation like a ten ton boulder.

He laughs awkwardly and looks desperately at the TV, the floor, anywhere but me. He settles on Tobi eventually. “Who’s this?”

“That’s Tobi.” I introduce. “The fluffy, all black one is Esca but she’s not as friendly.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m great with animals. She’ll come around to me.” He holds his hand out for Tobi who sniffs it cautiously but lets him pet her. “See?” He coos. “Tobi already likes me.”

Tobi is, indeed, purring and nuzzling her head into Mingyu’s hand. I wonder for a second if maybe I’m the only one my cats don’t like.

~

Mingyu doesn’t complain that the dumplings are definitely freezerburnt. He also doesn’t complain about the layer of dust coating the table because I literally never use it. He just asks me about the cats until I run out of things to tell him about them. And then he catches me with a tasteless dumpling halfway to my mouth. “You don’t even know who Pristin are, do you?”

I choke on the too-salty broth and make some dumb noise that isn’t an answer to his question.

“You never even _looked_ at an idol before me, huh?” He laughs to himself.

“I worked with Niel once. From Teen Top. I didn’t really want to but his company has serious connections and Andrew owed them a favor. We don’t really keep in touch, though.”

He looks down at his bowl, his chopsticks clinking against the side. “We could be on the same fucking song and still live in entirely different worlds.” It’s a quiet kind of bitterness—one I’m intimately familiar with, one that takes years to cultivate.

“Well…you’re an idol.” I offer awkwardly. It’s a dream he chased, I assume, to end up here. I wouldn’t be mad at anyone calling me a “rapper.”

“That doesn’t make me inhuman.” His voice cracks and I see the tears gathering in his eyes. “We’re just people and when we’re not idols anymore, no one ever knows what do with us but we’re just people.” It’s a full-on breakdown again, right into my disaster of a dumpling soup.

“Baby,” I murmur before I even realize what’s come out of my mouth.

“And when Pledis gets tired of D-Teen and gets rid of us too, no one will know what to with me. But I’ll be the same.” He pleads with me, his fingers curling into my shirt again. “I’ll be the same as I’ve always been. You’ll know. Right?”

“I don’t care if you’re an idol or an actor or if you’re famous at all.” I confirm to him. “I know who you are.” I promise. But I don’t know if I really do. I still don’t even know who Pristin are.

“I just never thought about what comes after being an idol. I never thought I’d have to.”

I’m already gently guiding him back to my room. I guess the dumpling soup was a lost cause. “It’s not over yet. You don’t have to.” I assure him.

He lands on my bed softly. Even with his bloodshot eyes and blotchy skin, he still looks like an angel. I back up just a little bit, just to crawl on the bed myself and his fingers dig even harder into my arm. “Don’t leave.” He cries, it’s somewhere between a wail and a whimper. “Don’t you leave this time.” And it’s the desperation in his eyes that breaks me.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby.” I promise. “I’m staying right here.”

It happens quicker this time, easier with Mingyu’s head bowed against my chest and his hands twined in my shirt. His breathing slows, he gets quieter, his body stills but he doesn’t fall asleep this time. “Pristin is— _was_ —” He corrects with a sharp breath, “a girl group with Pledis. They debuted a little bit after us. We trained with most of the girls and now they’re gone.” He finally explains.

“Oh,” I answer. Unfortunately no one thought to tell me about the other acts Mingyu shared a company with. But I wasn’t really close to Joshua or a lot of my musical label-mates. I didn’t think it would matter.

“They were good enough ,they really were. The company just didn’t know what to do with them.” He fixes his eyes somewhere on the wall behind me. “It happens all the time. It doesn’t matter how good you are sometimes.”

And that’s a painful fact of the industry I managed to skillfully sidestep. I worked my way up from the bottom, sharing a tiny apartment with like six other aspiring musicians and performing at different bars and venues every night until Andrew took notice of me. But eventually he took notice. I know all my former roommates didn’t have the same luck. “It’s not just Pledis anymore. You’re not just an idol. You can always look to Comet for help if you need it.”

“You didn’t see it.” He argues. “You’re still living in a whole other world. I was right there when the girls got out of the meeting. Yaebin walked right into me and said ‘the contract is over, we’re done’ and I just thought ‘that’s gonna be me.’ There was no avoiding it.”

“It’s not over yet. Nothing’s over yet.” I try.

He just shakes his head, hopeless and a little crazy. “It doesn’t matter.” He explains. “It doesn’t matter how good I am, how good I rap or dance, how well I fake date you. One day they’ll get tired of me and get rid of me. That’s just how it goes.”

“I’ll be here whatever happens. I promise.” I link our pinkies together but I can’t make eye contact with him. I know I’ll start crying or laughing or something else stupid if I even try.

He cups my cheek fondly and smiles but it’s hollow, empty, sad somehow. At least it’s a smile though. “That’s all I can ask of you, huh?”

I want to crawl into a hole and die. For the first time I’m forced to look at how shitty I am as a boyfriend, as a friend, as a person. I’m shallow and useless. I can’t even comfort Mingyu when he asks me.

He rubs at his eyes like a little kid. “So can I stay the night or what?” He sniffles.

“Yeah,” I laugh, “stay as long as you want.”

“Thanks babe.” He answers and kisses the back of my hand chastely. It’s not the way a prince greets his princess, it’s just a gesture of good will but my face heats up all the same.

And that night I fall asleep curled into Mingyu—closer than I ever was with Emily, even closer that the two cats curled into each other on the tattoo Andrew has on his ribcage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your regular psa reminder that when it comes to idols talent rarely translates into popularity and sometimes even when they're popular the company will randomly decide to disband them anyway so be nice to flops and disbanded groups


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep adding chapters bc i keep adding plot points, feel free to tell me stop at any point

When I wake up it’s about eleven. The cats are nowhere in sight. Which isn’t unusual. Tobi only shared the bed with me sometimes but usually her and Esca would sleep curled up together in whatever patch of sunshine they could find or under the heater. But Mingyu is gone too. Which makes me wonder for a second if yesterday was all a dream. But I can smell coffee in the apartment too so either it wasn’t a dream and Mingyu is still here or I’m like _dying_ and Emily moved in to take care of me. But I don’t feel like I’m dying so I blindly grope for my glasses and stumble out into to the living room.

Mingyu is sitting at the little table in the kitchen, two cups of coffee in front of him, doing something on his phone. His hair is still barely damp and his skin is dewy and fresh even this early in the morning. He’s wearing a shirt from a Comet family concert from like two years ago that I must’ve had lying around somewhere and shorts that have to be too short for him that he’s managed to cuff into something fashionable. I want to be mad at him for how good he looks all the time but there’s also warm food sitting on the counter behind him so I really can’t manage being mad.

“I was starting to think that you were hibernating or something, honestly.” He laughs, flicking his eyes up from his phone to look at me.

“I’m not…a morning person.” I answer after a lame pause. I was used to late nights at the studio when inspiration struck and late nights with League when it didn’t.

He just snorts. “Who would’ve guessed?” He gestures over to where Esca and Tobi are playfully fighting over a toy. “Your cats seem used to eating early though.”

I’m not sure what it is about his tone he sounds like he’s testing me, maybe? At the very least, he sounds like he wants an explanation. I don’t think I owe Mingyu an explanation though. I mean he’s brought me coffee and I enjoy his presence and all but I wasn’t used to _explaining_ myself. No one who mattered ever wanted to know that much about me. “They’re just used to begging for food whenever they get the chance.” I answer neutrally.

He doesn’t look entirely convinced but he drops the topic easily. “I got you coffee.” I take a peek at the takeout cup curiously. “Don’t worry, I got like the sweetest thing on the menu, you’ll like it.”

When I take off the lid to look at the drink it is the palest, creamiest brown I’ve ever seen in my life. There are maybe two drops of coffee in that cup of cream. It tastes like a cavity too so Mingyu’s right. “Thanks.” I murmur after taking a sip.

“I cleaned your kitchen too.” He gestures around and I realize that there’s actually a reflective surface for the sun to shine off of for once. “I was gonna cook for you but you only have like one pot and no spatula? What is up with you? Are you okay?”

“I never really learned to cook for myself.” I cough out awkwardly.

“Your continued existence is a miracle. At least like Hansol has me.” He snorts. “Anyway, I got you breakfast too.” He reaches behind him for the plastic bag sitting on the counter and plops it in front of me.

The bag does not hold a glorious meal, it’s only a bun and some kind of chocolate bread from the convenience store downstairs. “Thanks.” I mumble around the bread. “I didn’t expect you to leave and come back.”

The bright pink splotches on his skin from last night rapidly reform. “What?” He splutters and I can’t believe I’ve flustered him for once. “I mean—” He deflates just as quickly as he got worked up. “Where else am I gonna go?”

I rip the bun in half and hold it out to Mingyu. “You can always come back here.” I offer.

He bites into the bun and laughs half-heartedly. “Thanks, can I keep the clothes too?”

“Sure.” I answer without even looking at what he was wearing too closely.

“That was a joke.” He assures me. “You only have like three pairs of pants anyway.”

There’s crumbs scattered all over the freshly cleaned table now and everything is real. Everything is _painfully_ real. Mingyu is still here. Yesterday really happened. There’s still the threat that his career could be over at any moment. And everything was going to be different forever now that he had been to my house. Now that we had done something together without an ounce of charade in it. Something that wasn’t in any part for the public, or Andrew or Pledis. This was between me and Mingyu exclusively.

He stirs the wooden stick in his Americano aimlessly. “So,” he flicks his gaze up to my face before looking down at the table again, “I think you should tell me about your family.”

I feel a little lightheaded but my blood doesn’t run cold. It doesn’t make me feel as terrible as the idea usually does. It’s still not pleasant, though. I try to pick up the crumbs sitting on the table. “You already know them. Emily and Andrew are my family.”

He sighs, it’s soft but I’m not sure if it’s fond. “I know. But what about the ones before them?”

I’d been talking about my family my entire career, if anyone ever bothered to listen that close. It was always in scattered bits—missing my brother’s graduation, the icy cold feeling of home, always feeling like I could never do anything to make up for the sin of being born. Hidden behind references to _Les Miserables_ , Sharon Olds, Emily Dickenson, every other book and poem I got my greedy little hands on as a kid. Until everything blends together like the reality I tried to escape and the fantasy worlds I threw myself into to capture my whole childhood. But I’ve never laid it out like this. I’ve never said plainly what I was running from. “It’d be a stretch to call them family.” I settle on coldly.

He clicks his tongue and it’s that same expression of faint pity he gave me the first time I met him. “So, that’s how it is, huh?” It’s not a question really, I can see him trying to put all the pieces together in his head.

“When I first came to Seoul, I wasn’t chasing a dream—music was an afterthought, really—I was running away.”

He drops the bun onto the table. “You _ran away_?” He gasps.

“I worked at bookstore and saved up a bunch all throughout high school and then I dropped out when I was seventeen and took all my money and my laptop and some books to Seoul and never looked back.”

“What was it like back then?” He asks cautiously.

“My parents just hated each other.” I shrug. “My mom never wanted kids and she made sure to let us know and my dad didn’t care about us. We were either forgotten or disappointments. We couldn’t do anything right for them.”

“You have siblings?”

“Just one. A little brother. He’s still out there. He’s gonna graduate soon.”

“Is he…okay?” He still sounds like he’s walking on eggshells with me.

“He’s fine.” I laugh. “He’s fine.” I repeat a little quieter. “He was always better at dealing with all of it than me. He’s better looking than me, taller too and he was always better with people. I know he’ll be okay where ever he is.”

“Do you miss him?” He keeps flicking his eyes between mine and where he’s dragging his fingertip across the tabletop awkwardly.

“Not that much.” I lie. “I try not to think about him a lot. It makes me feel like a failure.” I’m trying really hard not to cry but I can already feel my lip wobbling. “He was the only person in my life that never looked at me like I was an endless disappointment and I just left him there. He was the only one that worried about me when I ran away and I only ever talk to him during Chuseok, when I’m in America and I know I won’t have to see him.”

“It’s not over.” He’s already infinitely better at this than I was. His low voice is naturally smooth and soothing and the look in his eyes is endless patience and trustworthiness. I’m definitely the one benefiting from this relationship. I don’t know what Mingyu is getting out of this.

“I wish it was.” I know I’m full on crying now and there’s a lot of things I’ve done since I was in Seoul but really _crying_ hasn’t been one of them. I know there are red blotches all over my skin and my nose is starting to run and I’m sure it’s not nearly as charming on me as it was on Mingyu. He keeps his arm around me though, gentle still. And then I make some sort of pitiful whimpering sound—loud enough to echo around the whole apartment.

Esca and Tobi freeze where they’re playing in the living room at the sound and come over curiously. And I heave out another horrible sob at the thought of my cats’ selfless kindness. I could always rely on them if no one else. But when Tobi bravely peeks into the kitchen to see my face, she immediately skirts around the corner and bolts down the hallway, Esca following her.

“You didn’t leave when Mingyu was crying!” I whine, an outburst I didn’t even realize left my mouth.

Mingyu starts shaking next to me and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s laughing. It takes me about as long to realize that I actually yelled at the cats and didn’t just think it.

“I didn’t laugh at you.” I pout weakly.

“Don’t get mad.” He tries, getting cute and burying his face into my neck. And I’d like to get mad, I really would, I feel like it’s justified for once. But I can’t. I’m a miserable failure of a human who can’t even maintain a relationship with my own _cats_ and Mingyu’s still here for me. It’s a miracle I can’t overlook.

“I’m not mad.” I finally huff out.

“I don’t think it’s over for you and your brother, really.” His voice is low again, sincere and stern. “I don’t think he thinks it’s over either.”

“He wants to come to Seoul, when he graduates. He wants to go to college out here.”

He fixes me with a look that’s all gentle concern—all what people told me mothers are supposed to be like. “You should call him at least. Start there.”

“I’ll try.” I finally answer.

“You’ll try?” He mocks. “It’s a fucking phone call not an algebra test.”

“It’s been a long time.” I defend. “I’ll try.”

He sighs like all the air is leaving his body. “Fine.”

~

Mingyu puts on some music show and lies directly on top of me to finish his coffee. It’s not as hot as outside but it’s still warm in the apartment and he lies _right_ on top of me. “What do you usually watch?” Mingyu asks me once the music show skips to some old man singing a ballad.

“ _League of Legends_.” I answer without thinking.

“Boooo!” He responds instantaneously. “Boo!”

“I used to watch a lot of American TV, when I was younger.” I amend.

“How impressive and worldly.” He snorts and I’m about to explain myself, how I only watched American TV because it showed me moms that reminded me of my mom or families that I recognized from my own life but Mingyu gets to it first. “Wait—it doesn’t matter how worldly you are or all the books in your studio or how good you are at English because you didn’t even graduate high school! You dropped out! So I’m the trophy husband and the smart one. You’re not pulling your weight.”

“I didn’t graduate but I have a GED.” I defend. “Andrew made me get it after I signed with Comet because he didn’t want me to be screwed if I ever stopped making music.”

“Doesn’t count.” He taunts. “I did the whole thing—clubs, sports, part time jobs. A GED is like a consolation prize, it’s like buying a souvenir from somewhere you never went to.” He takes a triumphant sip of his coffee. “Anyway, I am pulling like double my weight in this relationship, you gotta figure out what you contribute.”

“You’re taking everything!” I argue back, pressing my fingers into his sides.

He tries to squirm away with these breath-taking, breathless little giggles falling from his mouth and I wonder if I really woke up this morning at all or if this was all still a dream. “I’m glad you got Emily and Andrew, really.” He answers after a beat of silence. “I knew some trainee kids who ran away from something like you but they never found anything better.”

“I told you they were my family and I meant it.” I respond easily.

Mingyu starts giggling to himself and it’s cute at first but then he doesn’t stop. His laughter just keeps getting louder, interspersed with fragments of words I can’t quite make out.

“What?” I’m somewhere between horribly amused and concerned.

He attempts a response but it’s breathless and too high for me to understand. There’s some poor, poor girl group in skirts too short for the taller members singing a grating song _offensively_ live on the TV and I think it just make Mingyu laugh harder.

I fumble for the remote and manage to click the TV off, somehow getting myself more tangled and closer to Mingyu than before. But he finally catches his breath and manages a real answer. “I always thought you were family. Like real family.” He squashes the last of his laughter and gets out a better answer. “After I saw you with Andrew more, I thought maybe you were the secret child of Emily and Andrew and that’s why they were so worried about this scandal.”

“That’s just a bad daytime drama plot you saw in like middle school.”

“So you’re telling me if I had a manager that I was really close to, that was like my mom and a CEO that was like my dad and they had rumors that they were romantically involved for both of their _entire_ careers that you wouldn’t think maybe they were hiding something?” He poses. “Not even mentioning how Emily mysteriously disappeared back to America a couple months after she met Andrew.”

“You want me to believe that Andrew would ever have a child and let his partner raise the kid all alone in secret? He is the most fatherly person I know. He _loves_ kids, he tries to raise anyone he gets his hands on.” I argue. It’s gotta be something Mingyu is already familiar with. I mean he’s been around for plenty of Andrew’s fatherly advice and comforting hair ruffling. “Also Andrew and Emily didn’t even know each other until after I was born.”

He huffs and turns his attention to the blank TV screen. “Maybe I didn’t fact check my theory.”

“Not everything is a bad drama plot.” I argue, poking at his cheek.

“What about this doesn’t feel like a bad drama plot to you?” He gestures around the whole apartment, giving me time to find whatever I wanted.

And months ago I wouldn’t have been able to pick out a single thing that didn’t feel manufactured. Maybe Mingyu himself. But even then he felt like any of the million cute, sweet, pretty idols the industry pumped out. The way we felt about each other was handed down to us—our relationship, how we met, what we were supposed to look like in front of the press. It was a charade I was begrudgingly coerced into. But it’s a lot easier now. It’s harder to find something that _isn’t_ real.

Mingyu really cried into my arms yesterday. Mingyu really knows about my brother and the rest of my family. Mingyu really tried to cook me breakfast. Mingyu really knows my cats. He really made me laugh and cry and ache for his presence when he wasn’t around. He really was a part of my life. There was a frighteningly large portion of this that wasn’t fake anymore.

“Well, I guess if this was a drama, we would’ve had our first kiss before all the crying and sleeping at your place.” He finally answers himself, shrugging easily.

And it pops my little bubble of worry. Sure, this was still frighteningly real. But nothing was going up in flames yet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wonwoo's story about meeting tablo is heavily inspired by me making a fool of myself in front of one of my personal idols but the person i met was nowhere near as famous as tablo so i think that makes it more embarrassing tbh

Mingyu stays the whole day. It’s probably a whole twenty four hours between when I picked him up at Pledis and when his manager comes to pick him up for a Japanese lesson or something. It is shockingly similar to hanging out with him in my studio, with me playing _League_ on my computer and him lounging behind me on my bed. Except not exactly because I can’t teach him anything about making music here and also because he’s managed to coax Tobi into napping next to him. He looks up from his phone while I’m waiting in queue for a game. “Hey, Seungcheol-hyung wants to know more about being on _Show Me the Money_.” He prompts casually. “Actually, forget that—as your boyfriend, _I_ want to know more about being on _Show Me the Money_.”

“I told you it’s not very exciting.” I tell him, not looking away from the loading screen.

He drops his leg off the bed and kicks my chair so it turns me around to him. “Tell me about the first time you were on it.” He essentially demands. “Season four, with Hanhae right?”

“Hanhae was fine but I was really only there to meet Tablo.”

“So, did you get to meet him?” He asks curiously, his phone left off to the side of the bed.

“I made a fucking fool of myself in front of him, that’s what I did.” I snort.

“No way.” He laughs. “I had a fan dress up in a _disguise_ for a fan meet once—cheap wig and everything—and she was so fucking awkward and nervous and I’m nowhere as famous as Tablo. He has to have seen worse than you.”

I sigh and decide to tell him the whole ordeal. “So Andrew pulled all these strings and basically forced Hanhae to do his stage with me just so I could meet Tablo because he knew how much I looked up to him and everything and I finally get to meet him—and he’s pretty short did you know that?—anyway, I shake his hand and manage a little small talk and then my brain just fucking short circuits and the only thing I can think is ‘I turned my poems into rap in middle school because of your music’ so I blurt it out like a fucking _idiot_ and then I don’t know, I don’t remember anything else. I think Andrew swooped in to clean up my mess.”

Mingyu is trying very hard not to laugh and I appreciate him but it’s obvious that this is very funny to him. “That’s not _that_ bad.” He assures.

“And that’s the last time I saw Tablo and the last time he was on _Show Me the Money_.”

He picks up one of my pillows and hits me with it playfully. “It’s not your fucking fault he left _Show Me the Money_ , don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not saying that.” I hold my hands up in mock surrender.

“Fine.” He glares at me suspiciously before dropping it. “So, you’ll take me next time you go?” He asks me cautiously, a layer of fake casualness draped over the question.

“Even if I can’t take you, I’ll make sure Andrew does.” I promise easily. Andrew was there like every year either as a producer or a guest. I had only been twice.

Mingyu looks away for a moment, pouting. “But I wanted to go with you.” He holds out his pinky to promise. “Promise that you’ll take me.”

It is such a sweet and sincere gesture—not to mention cute, with the pout and Tobi sleeping next to him and all—that I can already feel my face heating up from it. I find my pinky interlocked with his without even realizing I had moved. I don’t have a response for him and I think my brain is just kinda overheated mush at this point and I open my mouth to say probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever said but instead my computer comes back to life with a character selection screen.

I unlink our fingers and spin my chair back around so fast it almost makes me dizzy. I hope it’s enough of a promise for him.

~

Mingyu gets restless some time in the afternoon. He stops contentedly playing with Tobi and Esca and starts fidgeting, throwing himself back on the bed and groaning without actually saying anything. Finally, in the middle of a game with a top-laner that can’t play for shit, he actually says something. “Why don’t you have any food here?” He whines, weakly tossing one of the cats’ toys across the room.

“We can go get something once I finish this game.” I answer easily, still focused on farming.

“But I don’t wanna go out again.” He continues whining. “Going out for a dinner date is like a whole other thing. I’ll have to dress up, put on makeup and everything.”

“I can go get us something then.” I amend. “Or we can get takeout.”

He looks thoughtful for a second and then a metaphorical light bulb (but might as well be a real, actual light bulb with how stereotypical and cartoonish he looks) goes off over his head and he nearly trips over himself to start talking. “I totally forgot to tell you about this morning—before you woke up, right?”

“You did not tell me about your morning.” I confirm. I’m still playing so Mingyu doesn’t have my full attention but our top-laner is really fucking things up for us so he’s probably got like 90% of my attention.

He gasps excitedly. “So one of my small, personal little dreams since this all began was to get a ‘walk of shame’ picture. Like, y’know, something that makes it very clear that I just got fucked and I’m trying not to ruin my pretty, idol reputation by sneaking around and hiding it.”

“Excuse me?” He now has 100% of my attention, maybe more if that’s possible.

“You know what I’m talking about.” He laughs, hitting my shoulder playfully.

“I do.” I say simply. “I just don’t know why this is your ‘small dream’.” I put air quotes around the phrase, full AFK-ing from the game.

“The mystique, the intrigue, the sex appeal, obviously.” He replies.

“Yeah, _obviously_.” I snort.

“So I’ve been dreaming about it and planning it out and obviously last night was _not_ the ideal circumstances for this but whenever else will I get the chance?” He sighs wistfully. “And you didn’t even leave any hickies on me that I could pretend to try to cover up.”

“Was I supposed to just start attacking your neck while you were crying?” I ask sarcastically.

He crosses his arms across his chest and pouts. “There were times where I wasn’t crying.” He huffs.

“My sincerest apologies for not trying to make out with you the _instant_ the tears dried.” I offer without an ounce of sincerity.

He glares at me unamused. “And you’re too skinny!” He complains. “None of your clothes were cutely too-big for me.”

“At least you didn’t have to do this with Andrew…or AJ,” I add after a moment of thought, “their clothes wouldn’t have fit you at all.”

“Height isn’t everything!” He argues.

“Neither is your ‘walk of shame’ picture of whatever the fuck you called it!” I argue back.

“I bet I took a nice picture at least.” He taunts. “You’re not even that tall.” He sticks his tongue out childishly.

“I’m sure you took a stunning picture.” I placate. “Now, do you want me to go get food or what?”

He looks entirely taken back by the question for a second, I guess he got lost in his own fantasy or something. “Nah,” he finally answers, “I’ll just go make us ramen.”

“You sure?” I’m already queued up for another game but my SR is already taking a hit from all my fuckshit teammates, it can take this hit too.

“Play your game.” He waves off, walking into the hallway.

I want to argue but I get dropped in a game and am so focused on winning at least once this afternoon that I almost forget that Mingyu is still here. There’s cooking sounds, of course, which are entirely foreign to me but I’m fighting with my teammate’s obnoxious voices in chat and everything else just kinda fades away. At some point in the longest game of _League_ ever probably, he walks back in with two bowls (bowls? I own _bowls_?) of ramen.

“I make the best ramen in D-Teen, maybe even of any idol ever, so consider yourself lucky.” He announces as he balances the bowl precariously in the sparse free space on my desk.

“Thanks babe.” I answer without thinking.

I can feel him hovering expectantly, just out of my line of sight. “So…” He finally prompts. “Try it.”

“Once this game is over.” I promise. We’re actually doing kinda good and I don’t wanna be the top-laner that can’t play for shit this time.

But I just feel Mingyu’s presence get closer, hovering right behind me. “Ah,” he tells me and there’s suddenly ramen right below my nose (it smells better than when I cook it too).

I laugh awkwardly because it _has_ to be a joke. “Thanks and all but I’ll just eat it when this game is over.”

I can _hear_ the eyeroll in his voice. “I’ve heard that before and I know how long _League_ games take. Just take a bite.” He pushes the noodles closer to my mouth.

I push my mic up and away from my face. “That is entirely unnecessary. You already made it for me and everything.”

“You’re already too skinny.” He argues, pressing the food insistently against my lips.

I take it as delicately and carefully as I can. “Thanks.” I mumble around the food.

It is probably the longest game of _League_ in history because Mingyu manages to feed me the whole bowl before I’m finished. He even manages to finish his own and play around with Tobi before the game finally ends. When I finally take off my headset to offer him some ice cream or something, he holds his phone up to me. “My manager.” He shrugs apologetically.

“Oh.” I answer dumbly. I think it comes out sounding disappointed but I mostly feel dumbfounded. I never stopped to think that Mingyu would go home. It blindsides me.

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” He laughs. “We had fun.”

“I’m not,” I try to answer, “I just—” But I can’t find the words without sounding like a possessive asshole so I don’t say anything.

“Walk me down.” He tells me brightly, offering his hand.

“Are you…good to go back?” I ask awkwardly, shutting the door behind us.

His shoulders sag and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah,” he finally answers, small and unsure. “I just didn’t want them to see me like that.”

The mere thought that Mingyu trusted me with something he wouldn’t trust his members with stuns me into silence.

He looks thoughtful in the elevator for a moment. “You think there will be cameras down there?”

“Were there cameras down there this morning?” I ask.

“None that I saw.” He shrugs. “But you better look like I blew your mind and flipped your whole world upside down last night just in case there are.” He threatens.

“I usually look stunned and taken aback in front of cameras anyway, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” I snort.

“Yeah and you’re also usually hiding behind something.” He blows off but then he starts reaching for the elevator buttons. “We should go back and get you some sunglasses or something.” I can see the ruined picture in his head—Mingyu looks utterly in love and a little bit like a sex kitten and I’m blushing furiously and looking awkward.

I pull his hand away. “No. There aren’t gonna be any cameras down there because I am just MKTM and no one cares where I live.”

He pouts but lets his hand fall. “If there are cameras and you look stupid, I’m gonna tell my manager to make them crop you out of the picture.”

I don’t know enough about how managers really work to know if that’s an empty threat (I’m pretty confident Emily could make it happen though) and I don’t really care either. My doorman has known me for the past two years and by “know me” I mean that he’s seen me roll out of the building half-asleep and return half-asleep at night every day for the past two years, almost always alone. So seeing me with another person must be quite a shock for him. And me and Mingyu are still holding hands. And he’s still wearing the Comet t-shirt. If he knows either of us are celebrities I know this is gonna be all over those trashy gossip magazines. I at least hope he gives Mingyu the story he wants.

There is a camera outside and it is so unexpected and shocking that the flash literally blinds me at first. And I instinctively know it’s not the picture Mingyu wants (it’s probably not the picture anyone wants). And for once I want to give Mingyu what he really wants. I just want one chance to exceed his expectations. But by the time I think of _any_ grand gesture, of any action that would make a beautifully romantic picture, ones worthy of a movie poster, he’s already unlinked our hands and is running toward his manager’s van. I want to pull him back by his arm, spin him around and kiss him but it’s already too late.

“Bye,” he giggles, already out of arm’s reach, “thanks!”

When I get back into my apartment Tobi is sitting in the doorway, swishing her tail expectantly.

“What?” I grumble. I’m not one for talking to the cats but she’s looking at me with big eyes like I owe her something.

She meows. Which both of the cats almost never do. We all prefer to keep the apartment in peaceful silence. And it almost sounds disappointed? Expectant? Denied? I’m not a cat whisperer.

“It’s not like he lives here.” I answer her, hollow and disappointed myself. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes again. Tobi takes one more curious look at me before darting down the hallway to join Esca. I can’t believe even my fucking _cat_ knows everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm like a real old school carat so that "mingyu feeds me ramen when i'm playing games" interview from wonwoo really changed my life


	10. Chapter 10

The picture is a miracle. I mean, the fact that it was taken at all is a miracle when I never see a “walk of shame” picture of Mingyu. But the fact that it looks _nice_ is the real miracle. I am leaning towards Mingyu, my arm extended towards him but nowhere in reach. There’s yearning all over my face, disappointment, raw _want_. Mingyu flutters away in a pretty storm of giggles. He looks like an untouchable siren and I look like the man he bewitched. If it was a classical painting it’d probably be called something like _Man and Nymph_.

“Why do they even know where I live?” I ask Emily once the picture comes out.

“I don’t know,” she mocks, “maybe because you’re a celebrity or something.” She laughs. “Everyone talks eventually.”

“Aren’t you supposed to do something about that?”

She laughs in my face at that. “What do you want _me_ to do? Do you wanna move or something?”

“Make me less of a celebrity.” I pout.

“You do a fine job of that on your own.” She shoots back. “But sure, no problem, we’ll just say you did something nasty to Mingyu like cheat on him or something and then everyone will really hate you and you can forget about the album and like be AJ’s manager or something.” She answers easily, distracted by something on her phone.

The suggestion almost makes me physically ill but I can’t place why. “The album’s already in the works, just keep the cameras at a reasonable distance.” I answer coldly.

She whistles lowly. “Okay.” She rolls her eyes. “Dramatic baby.”

I do hold onto the idea of moving though. Not tightly. It’s just a vague idea. I might need more room. For the cats, of course.

~

I never expect to just be able to ask Mingyu on a date. I feel like I need to ask Pledis for permission or at least his manager. Or at the _very_ least Seungcheol. But I try just texting Mingyu, _do you wanna go to hongdae with me?_ And I sit there and wait for some warning notification that pops up over my entire screen like government warnings do. Instead, after my stomach has entirely knotted itself up, I get an excited emoji from Mingyu and one word— _when?_

~

We decide on a Tuesday night because this isn’t a publicity stunt. We don’t need everybody in the world to see us. We hope no one will actually. I have to rely on AJ for fashion advice because Emily is too used to dressing up her models like little Barbie dolls and I haven’t seen Jihoon wear anything but that ratty college sweatshirt and PJ pants since I’ve known him. At least AJ knows how to be chill about things. I end up in a pair of shorts that I think make my legs look like breakable little twigs but AJ assures me look good and a bright graphic t-shirt. Mingyu looks infinitely better in black skinny jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I wonder if that effortless stylishness will ever rub off on me.

He runs up and grabs my hand when he sees me. “You look nice.” He compliments, kissing my cheek.

“You look nicer.” I answer easily.

He sighs. “God, you have no idea how long it took me to pick this.”

“AJ had to pick out my outfit for me.” I laugh.

He stops and looks absolutely star struck for a moment. “Alright, I might be used to you and Andrew but I still can’t fucking _believe_ that I am one degree of separation away from Eqo.”

“You were probably one degree of separation away from him before this. Probably went to the same salon or knew the same coordi or something.” I wave off.

“That is not the same.” He pouts. “ _You_ invited me to his birthday party.”

Technically Andrew did that and also AJ’s real birthday party happened at some trendy club hours later with celebrities that might actually make Mingyu faint. So I don’t correct him. “What else did you think about wearing?” I ask him because I usually see him in something similar when we go out. I figured it was a signature look.

He groans in frustration. “It’s like a real date so I wanted to wear something real nice but they only make nice date wear for like the dead of fucking winter except like dresses and skirts.”

“And dresses or skirts were…not happening?” I press gently.

“We just had cheap, ugly ones for girl group dances.” He shrugs. “And my manager said not to because it would look bad in pictures.”

“You never look bad in pictures.” I argue.

He seems completely unphased by what I said, captured by something else. “You’d probably look good in a skirt.” He muses off-handedly. “Like one of those real skinny 90’s supermodels.”

“Why is this about me now?” I sputter nervously, the blush already rising on my face.

“I’m just thinking.” He sing-songs innocently. It’s that pretty, fake idol innocence though. And I don’t trust it. His eyes land one of the food carts around us and he pulls me excitedly towards it. “Ooh, crepes!” He tells me, pointing. And I guess we’re not talking about skirts anymore.

~

Mingyu ends up with a mango crepe, sitting by some group of kids doing cover dances. I have a way too sweet chocolate crepe, sitting next to him on the concrete. It’s still warm from the summer sun. “Did you ever do that?” I ask, gesturing to the kids.

“What? ’Growl’?” He laughs. “Everyone knows ‘Growl’ or at least some Exo song.”

It doesn’t look easy to me. It definitely doesn’t look like something everyone should know. “No, I meant like…busking or whatever you call it?”

He thinks it over. “Only like once or twice, right before we debuted.” He answers. “It’s more common with the younger kids. Putting your covers on youtube was the thing when we were doing it.”

I look over at the group of kids more closely. “Are they idols?” I whisper because god only knows what the new kids look like and where they perform now.

He looks at them too and laughs. “No.” He decides after inspection. “Not yet at least, maybe soon.” He doesn’t look too happy about the prospect but I still don’t know enough about idols to know why. “Do you even know what ‘Growl’ is?” He asks after a beat of silence. His tone suggests that there is definitely a wrong answer to that question.

“Just assume that I haven’t heard any idol stuff since like…’Lucifer’.” I answer, defeated.

He frowns. “Sometimes I really hate the words that come out of your mouth.” He gives me a moment to really take in his disappointment. “At least you know SHINee.”

I link our hands together, keeping my eyes steady on the kids. “You guys should make choreo for one of Comet’s songs.”

He laughs loud and boisterous, I only catch the glow of his teeth out of the corner of my eye. “Are you trying to use your pretty, perfect, idol boyfriend as free labor?”

“No!” I defend.

He laughs it off. “I’m just joking.” He squeezes my hand. “Soonyoung and Chan do the choreo anyway.”

I don’t push the idea. I just watch him watch the kids move on to some other dance I don’t know. He’s pretty under the soft street lamps and neons—pretty in a way I haven’t seen from him before. He’s not safe and sweet and childish. He’s not some 13-year-old’s first crush. I don’t see what his company manufactured him to be anymore. It’s almost stunning how _real_ he is.

“But I wanna collab with you.” I finally respond, a hint of cute whininess in my voice, the same way Mingyu sounds when he’s asking for something.

He looks at my skeptically. “Then you better be ready to pay up.” He snorts.

I’d be willing to. But I don’t think I can come up with a value that I feel fits him.

~

Mingyu wanders further down the street and pushes me into buying a milk tea so that he can just eat the boba out of it. Then he stops me in front of a group that’s freestyling some bars on the sidewalk—they’re’ not great but they’re not terrible either. I try to wiggle out of it because I’m afraid they’ll recognize MKTM and I’ve never been good at dealing with fans when they’re weren’t roped away from the stage. Mingyu compromises (as much as he ever does) and we watch them from afar. The beat they’re all using is a slow, piano-heavy thing that rappers always get emotional over. Honestly, it almost sounds like a rip-off of Andrew’s “Universe.”

“Do you have any nice songs?” Mingyu asks me out of the blue.

I sputter for a moment, trying to figure out what that even means. “Have you secretly been my anti this whole time?”

He waves me off. “No, I meant like songs that aren’t fucking unhinged? Something with a nice piano maybe?”

I only had one song that featured a “nice piano” and I wrote it when I was completely fucking _unhinged_. But everyone else seems to think it doesn’t sound unhinged. I put it on an album—buried somewhere in the fifteenth or seventeenth track maybe—because Andrew made me include it. I wrote it entirely in once night, drunk in LA with Emily. There was maybe a line or two about gratitude and the most concrete reference to my brother I had ever made in my music. “It’s called ‘Glass’.” I finally answer. “I don’t know if you’ve ever heard it, though, I buried it on the album and never preformed it anywhere.”

He takes the milk tea from me and fishes around for more boba. “Isn’t it exhausting being angry all the time?”

“I’m not.” I answer easily. “It’s just my music.” It’s the simplest way I could describe things. Tablo was still releasing furious, miserable, self-destructive music more than a decade into his career. I still had years to go.

“Oh shut up,” he shoves me playfully, “I always thought you were an edgelord like Ignito…” He trails off. “But, I guess it’s not all fake, huh?”

“It’s not _all_ fake.” I answer carefully. “It’s just not all true anymore. I’m not the same kid I was.”

“I always thought ‘Motherless’ and ‘Bastard’ were just for the shock value. It’s kinda hard to learn they’re real.”

“They probably did so well because of the shock value though.” I laugh.

He looks up, away from the kids and into the stars. “You should write more songs like ‘Glass’.” He muses.

I don’t answer but with the stars in his eyes and the sounds of the city around us I can think of a million songs nicer than “Glass.”

~

By the time Mingyu sucks all of the boba out of my milk tea, the kids have mostly cleared out. It’s not any less crowded. It’s just the college crowd, the working adults, the ones that have to perform even if it turns into nothing. It is not an unfamiliar sight to me. Before the bars came Soundcloud songs and performing anywhere I could. And if Mingyu thought my published discography was unhinged, he should’ve seen me before Andrew and before Comet, when no one ever told me to bring it down a notch and the wounds my family left on me were still fresh and bleeding. But I’m not like that anymore. The wounds that are left are festering, sure, but they’re not bleeding anymore and they’re far from fresh. I’m not that kid anymore.

“So this is your grand date?” He asks me. We’re walking back to where we started but it looks like a whole other street now.

It feels a little bit like a jab and I don’t know what to do with it. “I never really thought about a date before you.” I stammer out.

He clicks his tongue. “That’s kinda pathetic, honestly. I’m like actually sad about that.” But there’s this bright twinkle in his eye, his hand tightening around mine. If there is any similarity between Jeonghan and Mingyu it’s probably their intense desire to have 100% of someone’s attention at all times. “Is that why you were so eager to go on dates with me?”

I feel like it’s no well-kept secret or anything but there were never any dates before Mingyu. If I dreamed up any dates I couldn’t even remember them. There were never any dates for Jeonghan (even in my fantasies, I was a one-off fling for him) or for the upperclassmen that helped turn my poems into lyrics. I never let myself get invested enough to think up _dates_. It was too dangerous. But Mingyu never leaves me enough room to get in my own head and find every way this could be dangerous. He agrees easily with a bright smile. This date didn’t exist before I met him. It was all uniquely for him. “I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

He tugs me back into step with him. “It’s good we did your date first.” He’s acting all faux-innocent, leaving the door wide open for me to ask questions.

“Why?” I play into it. I figure it’s the fastest way out.

“Because it’s real cute.” He answers vaguely, looking away from me and kicking his feet against the ground playfully.

“And what?” I press, unamused. “Yours won’t be?”

He looks at me with mischievously sparkling eyes and a telling smile. “You’ll just have to wait and see.” He swings our hands together casually. “So how do you wanna end this really cute date?”

“Is it over now?” I prompt.

“Yeah.” He pouts cutely. “The company gave me a curfew after last time. Now I’ve gotta ask for permission before running away with you.” He pretends to wipe away a fake tear.

“Oh.” I answer, probably somewhere between disappointed and shocked.

“Don’t worry.” He waves off. “Nu’est are going on tour soon and they’ll forget about us after that anyway.” It’s that old sadness buried under layers and layers of ineffective coping mechanisms that I hate hearing in Mingyu’s voice.

And suddenly it is crystal clear in my mind, how I want this date to end. I stop Mingyu in the middle of the street and wrap my arms around him. It’s not a drama hug. It’s not really close. I’m a lot shorter than I realize and all I can really do is bury my face in his chest and not offer any kind of serious comfort. But I feel the little gasp escape his mouth and I think for once I’ve really managed to shock him. I think, for once, I’m more than he expected.

He strokes my hair down once, so gently I barely feel it. And he follows the line down the back of my neck, settling his hands around my shoulders. And we just stay there. It’s not a drama embrace. Not any one I’ve seen at least. It’s not the first flirting brush with skinship. It’s not just a placeholder for the big kiss. It’s something sturdy and solid. Something that exists in its own right. It’s a declaration all by itself.

“So this is how your dream date ends?” He whispers to me.

It takes me a moment to find my voice. I mouth the word a few times before I actually speak it. “Yes.” It’s probably the last time I can mention that there was no dream, no _dates_ before Mingyu without it meaning more than it has to. But that doesn’t even register to me. I don’t have time to think that this is my last good chance to make a real admission because nothing is more true than “yes.” This is the most I could dream of.

He parts from me slowly, easily—none of the yearning like we were parting forever that he showed in pictures. “Good,” he laughs, “’cuz I gotta go catch my ride.”

“Now?” I whisper, my vocal chords still catching up with the mood.

“Yeah,” he answers, “I’ll even blow you a kiss.”

“Sounded like you wanted to blow more than that.” I grumble under my breath.

He winks at me before turning around. “Maybe next time.” He offers with a giggle.

I know it’s mostly a joke but the suggestion still leaves my stomach in knots, still makes me grip the steering wheel a little tighter on the drive home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to answer the question no one is asking and to be a horribly pretentious khiphop nerd, imagine that "Glass" sounds like "Going Home" by Mad Clown and #GUN but more stripped down and a little more unhinged like "OMEN" or "gone" by justhis


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the "Sean" mentioned is the Sean half of Jinusean

Andrew somehow manages to intercept Mingyu’s date night. He made plans for a celebration dinner and didn’t totally forget about it this time (but I think Emily had something to with that) and he wants everyone in Comet and whoever he can get his hands on in Pledis to show up. He says something about bonding and something about congratulating us but the only people from Pledis that show up are D-Teen. And I’m pretty sure Andrew just thinks that he can steal the whole group from Pledis if he tries hard enough. Even if Comet has never had an idol group and is definitely not prepared for one, Andrew is truly weak for anyone who could use a father figure or a mentor of some kind.

So Comet rents out a whole restaurant and Andrew personally calls Mingyu to invite everyone. Which might be why only D-Teen showed up but whatever. Andrew does manage to get like everyone from Comet to come, though, even Joshua decides to show up. It’s a little bit like the normal “family dinners” we have as a company but like a million times more awkward. It’s weird for me, seeing the rest of D-Teen in person, but they all look so starstruck by Andrew and AJ it’s easy to ignore. Until Vernon turns his brightly sparkling eyes towards me before turning back to AJ. I feel like I’m letting a bunch of kids into Disneyland for the first time—it’s both endearing and entirely overwhelming.

“Vernon’s cute.” I whisper to Mingyu, Andrew telling one of his big stories on the other end of the table.

He pouts cutely. “Your boyfriend is right here.” He whines.

“I mean, he really looks like Emily, huh?” I clarify.

And I watch Mingyu’s eyes trail over to Emily and back over to Vernon. They have the same hazel eyes and natural, honey brown hair. “Are you saying he’s got a great modeling career ahead of him?”

I shrug. “I just think Emily will really like him, that’s all.”

“I think he’s missed his modeling years.” Mingyu tosses in.

Vernon looks like a high schooler to me, maybe even younger honestly. So I don’t know what he’s talking about. “Emily can always find something if she’s really motivated. But he probably doesn’t want to model, huh?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He brushes off. “What do _I_ get out of this?” He flutters his eyelashes at me temptingly.

“Whatever you want.” I answer smoothly.

He snorts, unimpressed. “Cool. Fantastic. I want a trip to LA then.”

But it doesn’t sound so outlandish and unobtainable to me. It sounds perfectly manageable.

~

It is open bar at the restaurant, courtesy of Andrew. And that changes a formal meeting of awkward idols and awkward rappers into a somewhat strained party. Seungcheol starts off a dignified leader, trying his best to really connect with Andrew, to leave that door open for his group whenever they might need it. But a few drinks later he’s got a lap full of Jeonghan and has stopped even looking in Andrew’s direction. Emily is less obviously interested in Vernon than the literal heart eyes that Seungcheol is making at Jeonghan but I can still tell she’s interested. A different kind of interested, of course, she’s looking at Vernon the same way she looks at her cat. But every time he turns away from Emily she offers him food or asks him some new question about music. It’s not longer oil and water—D-Teen and Comet—it’s some kind of weird mix.

I try to elbow Mingyu in the side to get his attention but Andrew ordered some overly sweet raspberry drink (probably exclusively for me) and I’ve probably already had too many and my limbs are heavy and uncooperative. “I told you Emily would like him.” I point unsteadily at where Vernon is sat right next to Emily, her looking at him fondly. It’s the same expression she has when she watches one of my cats miss a jump and flop onto the floor.

“Playing cougar?” He laughs, turning his attention back to me. He’s managed to pull together a strange trio of himself, Soonyoung and Jihoon. But Jihoon was never even paying attention to Mingyu, his full attention on Soonyoung the whole time. And his weakness to pretty, little things on full display.

“ _He_ could be her son.” I snort.

“That’s fine.” He leans on me. “She’s a foreigner and it’s the new age and all.” He pretends to throw confetti and giggles to himself.

“She’s not looking for a boyfriend.” I try making a coherent argument but it is getting a lot harder with Mingyu all over me. “She’s looking for a baby to take care of.”

“You’re my baby.” He tilts his head up to me and pinches my cheek playfully . “And I take care of you.”

And whatever coherent thought I had going is lost to a pink haze of affection.

Emily is drunk enough to be too loud. At least she’s not getting teary about her family though. “Remember when we went to Sean’s wedding and I wore that red dress?” She sighs fondly to Andrew but I can tell she’s mostly putting on a show for Vernon. Who might not have even been born when Sean got married.

“That really was the golden era, huh?” Andrew looks at Emily so fondly it’s almost disgusting. I bet the rumors are gonna start up again if any of D-Teen start talking. But I’d seen the pictures of Andrew and Emily at events together—weddings, parties, award ceremonies. Emily still had dark hair and they were always laughing together, looking glamorous and golden.

“Why’d you stop going out together?” Vernon asks. He’s a little bit too loud, eyes shining with fascination but I think he’s looking at Andrew and not Emily.

“We were showing everyone up.” Andrew, at least, is talking at a normal volume. “It just wasn’t fair. Everyone was talking about Emily after that wedding and we decided maybe she was too pretty to be at every event in Seoul.”

Emily sighs. “You can’t show up the bride at her own wedding. It’s just rude.”

“No one could compete.” Andrew agrees, shaking his head sadly.

“Well,” Emily swirls whatever is in her glass thoughtfully, “Beenzino and his girlfriend could. They’re a fucking force to be reckoned with.” She hold s up her glass to toast to a couple that’s not here and is absolutely not gonna hear about this. “They could show _us_ up.”

“Debatable.” Seungcheol interjects shyly. Jeonghan is still draped all over him and I’m shocked he can pay attention to anything but that.

“Aw, I _am_ almost as pretty as his model girlfriend, thanks.” She giggles cutely and goes to pat his arm but she can’t reach so she settles for resting her hand on Vernon.

“And Andrew’s handsome too.” He adds awkwardly, his face bright red and his voice tight.

“Sure, he’s handsome.” Emily waves off. “But he can’t compete with Beenzino. It’s not happening.”

“That’s subjective.” Seungcheol tries. Andrew seems entirely uninterested in this debate about whether or not he’s more handsome than Beenzino, leaned over in some conversation with AJ and Chan.

“Subjective my ass.” Emily laughs. “At least Beenzino is taller than a nine-year-old.”

“You don’t wear Beenzino clothes all the time, though.” Jeonghan interjects, that sweet-sounding poison on his tongue.

“I don’t work for Beenzino.” She waves off but Emily looks at least a little shaken. I’m surprised Jeonghan has anything on her that can shake her.

“That’s not what you said when we were in Shanghai—” He starts but Emily lunges over Vernon in her attempt to…strangle him probably.

“You little rat,” she hisses, “you weren’t supposed to remember that.”

“Whoops.” He responds, not sounding sorry at all. And they just glare at each other for a moment, the tension in the room rising enough to get AJ’s attention. But then the waiter brings a fresh plate of fires and Andrew clears a space to put them right in front of Emily and all is forgotten.

“What’s your guys’ deal with height?” Mingyu asks me, picking at a plate of rice cakes.

“It’s just because Andrew is so short.” I answer easily. “And AJ’s pretty short too and he’s like second in command.”

He feeds me a rice cake sloppily, his fingers nearly going in my mouth. “And they’re still more successful than you. I told you height isn’t everything.” He teases.

“You’re just being mean because you love me.” I tease back, laughing.

“You’re drunk.” He laughs with me. “And your breath smells like a candy shop.”

“Yeah,” I answer dreamily. I just like being this close to Mingyu. It’s nice.

“It’s cute.” He coos.

I don’t mean to but I catch AJ give me a knowing glance out of the corner of my eye. Maybe we are being obvious. It doesn’t matter. This whole thing was created to be obvious.

~

AJ and Andrew both stay pretty sober even by the end of the night. It’s the boss and the future boss in them. Emily is _fucked up_ though, making Andrew play babysitter while trying to wrap up the whole function. Me and Mingyu are both trashed and keep falling into each other. Sober me would tell me to let AJ take me home and sleep it off. But I can’t stay away from Mingyu. I just can’t Every time I take more than a step away from him, my chest starts to tighten.

Andrew has managed to usher all of us out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk but we’re not moving from there. We all just mingle around in odd pairs and trios. Me and Mingyu have created a precarious tower, both of us leaning on each other for support. Jeonghan is twirling his hair cutely around his finger and fluttering his eyes at Seungcheol. I think I should be mad or jealous or bitter but maybe I’m too drunk to process it really. Or maybe it’s just too easy to fall back into Mingyu and start giggling with him again.

Emily is still drunk enough to be way louder than she realizes. “I just wanna pinch his little cheeks.” She yells to Andrew, no more than two feet away from Vernon who she is no doubt talking about.

Vernon has no reaction even though he _has_ to have heard. Maybe I should ask Mingyu if he’s alright. Andrew placates Emily gently, balancing a woman at least a foot taller than him over his shoulders somehow. He leans down to Vernon. “Did she get your number by any chance?” He whispers conspiratorially.

“Uh…no.” Vernon answers, foggy.

Andrew readjusts Emily on his shoulders. “Fantastic! Remember to call if you guys ever need anything but call me or Wonwoo or anyone but Emily, oaky?” He pats Vernon’s back reassuringly. “Alright, get home safe now.”

“Can I walk you home?” I ask Mingyu, offering my hand. It’s a bad idea. It’s stupid late and I’m stupid drunk. I can just get AJ to take both of us home. But I can’t stand the thought of parting so soon.

“Oh, thank you kind sir.” He responds, taking my hand delicately.

And suddenly it’s a funny in-joke between us. Suddenly the only things that exist in the world are the things between us.

~

The walk is spotty. We part from the rest of D-Teen early on, taking a quiet detour. And then my memory finally starts going. There’s a building lit up so brightly it gives me a headache. Mingyu’s laughter in my ear. The warmth of his body somehow burning hotter than the summer night. There’s a bird or something perched on a sign weirdly and neither of us can stop laughing about it. Mingyu’s smile reflecting in some streetlamp, the brightest thing I’ve ever seen and it doesn’t hurt at all. The sound of laughter. And then there’s Mingyu’s eyes sparkling with all the stars in the sky and he’s close and he’s _open_. And I think, _this is it_. I stare at him slack-jawed and amazed and I think, _this is all I ever need_. It’s beautiful. The sound of laughter. The sound of laughter. The sound of laughter.

~

We both linger outside his building, in the lobby, in the elevator. I’m not sure where this ends and it’s _killing_ me. I want to be drunk with Mingyu forever. And I’ll never break down and talk about my brother or my family. I’ll never talk about my life before Seoul. I’ll never talk about my life before _Mingyu_. I’ll never have time to write “Glass” or any song like it because this is all I need. _This is all I need_. I thought I found it back when Andrew scouted me but giggling with Mingyu over nothing really is _it_ , the end all be all of everything.

We linger outside the elevator, in the hallway that leads to his dorms. He doesn’t call it “home.” He never has with me. I guess that’s a distinction you get to make when you’re an idol. It’s still stupid late and we’re just giggling in this hallway. Mingyu’s normal neighbors are probably less than an hour from getting up and they probably hate us so much right now. And I’m trying so hard not to at least laugh quietly but that alone is so funny to me that tears are streaming down my face under my glasses. And Mingyu keeps telling me to shush but he can’t keep quiet either and we’re both just drunk, loud, messy _idiots_ loitering in the hallway.

Mingyu hasn’t let go of my hand once since we left the restaurant. And we stay that way as he turns away to his door. I don’t think this is where he’ll leave me. But I’m too drunk to really reason with myself and I’m so scared that maybe he’ll just let go of my hand and walk into his dorm. So I tug his hand a little bit, out of panic mostly. It’s not the drama moment I keep imagining, spinning Mingyu into my arms and kissing him passionately. It’s just a suggestion, a whisper, a _plea_ to turn back to me. And he does.

And it’s here. It’s happening. It’s not for the public or a reporter or either of our companies. It’s only for us. We’re the only ones that ever have to know with every door in this hallway shut, no lights on anywhere I can see. It’s nothing like I imagined. But it’s here and it’s real and he’s right in front of me, his hand still in mine.

Jeonghan is never gonna be this close to me (not like this at least). I’m never gonna get another chance with that senior kid that helped me write lyrics in high school. This is _it_. Mingyu is the only one that’s going to end up here. He ended up here despite my every attempt to keep him at arm’s length. Because he’s _it_. He’s all I need. He’s _the_ one. He’s a beautiful corona of real and fake—blended until I can’t find the lines anymore, until it’s an entirely new color from what we started with. He’s the one in my hands. And I don’t want anyone else.

Mingyu is bitter and spicy when I finally get to taste him. I think I could forget about my obnoxious sweet tooth for the rest of my life if everything tasted like this instead. My hand lands on a tacky spot on his shirt where someone’s drink was spilled. The old hallway light flickers on or maybe lightning flashes or the heavens open up above us. I’m not finding out because I can’t open my eyes. But even without seeing I _know_ Mingyu is beautiful like this. I just _know_ it somehow. It’s hot and blurry and I can no longer really tell the difference between my body and his. Like there are no boundaries anymore—between me and him, me and the building, me and the universe.

He starts giggling against my mouth and if I was sober maybe that would scare me but I’m not and it just feels nice. “We should’ve gone back to your place.” He laughs and I don’t even register the words for a moment. I just feel his lips brushing against mine as he talks and I think, _is this what I’ve been missing out on?_ And the whole thing comes together for me—every point where we are connected—and I think, _is this what I’ve been running away from?_

“Fuck.” I finally answer, quiet and dazed.

“Oh well,” he answers flippantly and his eyes are pure light and a dark void at the same time, “I guess we’ll just have to save something for next time, huh?” His hand is still cupping my face tenderly and it’s hard to…understand words.

“Yeah,” I whisper back because I’ll agree to anything with his warm skin on mine, his breath fanning over my face.

“So, look forward to it.” He teases, giving me one last peck before really turning away. “Get home safe.” He giggles, closing the door to his dorms firmly behind him.

It’s still the same dark hallway. Still quiet and orderly, I can’t even tell if the rest of D-Teen are here yet. But my world is entirely different. I can make out Mingyu’s smiling face in a water stain on the ceiling. Can map out the glint of his smile in the buttons in the elevator. Can match the constellations in his eyes to the constellations in the stars. I haven’t really bothered with looking at the stars since I came to Seoul. Everything moves too fast and the brightness of the city outshines the stars. But it’s so easy, leaned up against the outside of the building to find a cluster of stars that remind me of Mingyu in the sky, behind the thin whispers of clouds.

“Hey AJ,” I manage, somehow out of breath and half-unintelligible into my phone, “I need you to pick me up.”

He just laughs into the other end. “Yeah, I figured. You seemed pretty trashed earlier.” There’s something about AJ that’s just so endlessly comforting to me. Something about a person with such a vibrant and thriving social life that I could slip in and out without ever being noticed. I could call AJ whenever I wanted and it wouldn’t be weird. And I could smoke weed with his American friends and spend too much time with his sister’s cat and spend months locked away in my studio while he was touring the world or doing the _Show Me the Money_ gig and he never even seemed to notice the absence. Maybe I should tell him some time, how nice all that was. “Where are you?” He prompts.

“D-Teen dorms.” I slur out.

“Oh,” he exclaims, clearly delighted with the turn of events, “so you’re _that_ kind of fucked up, huh? I hear you loud and clear, bro.”

I’d like to argue with him or at least tell him that this is not the chill AJ I appreciate so much but my tongue is too slow and I’m not an unhinged kind of drunk anymore. So I just hum something unintelligible instead.

“Alright, just stay conscious for a little bit, yeah?” He laughs. “I’ll be there soon.”

I don’t think I’m gonna pass out or even blackout. It’s just like I’m getting to see the universe differently. Things are folding open for me even if I can’t quite make out the insides of it yet. And, in the sky, I pick out another set of stars that remind me of Mingyu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> out of respect for Beenzino, he's never confirmed that the model i'm referencing is his gf he just told reporters "it's none of your goddamned business" which is the biggest of big dick energy god i love Beenzino


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you'd think with everything being shut down or cancelled i'd be writing more but i'm just playing video games lol  
> also there's smut in this chapter btw

It’s been hot for months now and then it rains. It doesn’t cool anything down, though, it’s still hot and humid. It’s just the kind of rain that takes all of the moisture in the air and decides to dump it on your head for a change. All the windows in the company building are all fogged at the edges with how hard the air conditioning is working. Me and Jihoon are trapped in one of the empty meeting rooms instead of the roof, where we usually procrastinate.

I’ve still got an album that I don’t feel like writing and Jihoon has this former idol basically up his ass for a solo debut track. It’s annoying, sure, but I know Jihoon broke down and said yes to a pretty face before considering his workload. But unlike most of Comet, he has that natural work ethic that means he’ll get this done pretty easily. He just has to bitch about it first. He’s moved on from the idol he’s working for to D-Teen though. Usually company dinners aren’t worth mentioning around here. We all know that our coworkers and collaborators are barely held-together messes of trauma and general unhappiness so we can’t shock each other anymore. But I guess idols are all we needed to start talking again.

“Emily was _piss drunk_.” Jihoon laughs. It’s kinda…unpleasantly bitter coming from him. But I know he doesn’t know Emily like I do so I can’t really hold it against him.

“Everyone was piss drunk besides Andrew and AJ.” I laugh.

“I wasn’t that bad.” He argues. I feel like the way he was all over Soonyoung that night is proof enough that he was _that_ bad. But I was too drunk and too wrapped up in Mingyu to really argue.

Jihoon doesn’t _need_ a manager. He doesn’t have any of the crippling flaws the rest of us have—spacyness, a social nature that makes you crave human contact 24/7, laziness, a rebellious streak you just can’t beat. He never has a reason to be around Emily and she won’t deal with his snippy, doom-and-gloom attitude. He could do it all by himself. He doesn’t even have anyone _like_ Emily.

I break up a scone into little pieces over my napkin and really look at Jihoon for a second. The silence between us isn’t comfortable exactly but it’s not as strained and awkward as I am with, say, Joshua. I wonder if the fact that he didn’t have anyone like Emily was a detriment to him. I mean, I knew he didn’t _need_ her like I did. He didn’t need her for work. He didn’t need a replacement mom, some sense of family for the first time in his life. I had met his mom before—she liked doing his hair and makeup for his rare concert appearances. I had met his dad too. He already had a family. And I wonder if that keeps him at an arm’s length from everyone here.

“Do you wanna hang out some time?” I ask, trying to sweep up all the crumbs on the table into a little mountain.

“We’re hanging out right now.” He answers noncommittally. He’s also focused on a pastry he’s not really eating.

I’ve never seen Jihoon outside of this building or a Comet event. He’s never seen my apartment or met my cats. I’ve never seen his studio at home or eaten a meal made by his parents. He knows nothing about my family. We were work friends at best—colleagues. And we could be that way forever, it’d be fine. It’s probably the most we’re really capable of anyway. But Emily and Andrew spent years opening doors for me, extending a hand towards me, dragging me unwillingly sometimes. And I don’t think Jihoon’s gotten the same opportunity because he hasn’t been the same miserable problem child. So I extend my hand this time. “No, I mean like outside of here—you can come over and we can watch that drama you like.”

“You don’t like dramas.” He tests.

“Or you can pick out a bad drama and we can have some drinks and make fun of it.” I amend.

“Maybe after I finish these songs.” He offers unsurely. It’s not exactly reaching out and grabbing my hand but it’s not rejection either. He puts his pastry back on the tray. “Speaking of, I should get back to work.” He tells me reluctantly. “I’ll text you about it.”

He has to pass me on his way out of the room and when he does, he pauses for a moment. It is probably the most awkward moment of my life and there really is a lot to contend with considering everything about me as a person. We both try out bests to think of some friendly gesture befitting our friendship. Jihoon eventually holds his hand up to me unsurely and I give him a weak high five. We both nod uncomfortably at each other as he leaves.

It’s not great—it’s not even _good_ , let’s be real—but we can work on it.

~

Mingyu is smoother than me in asking for a date. Not that that surprises me or anything.

_what’s ur fav food?_ He texts me with a cute, curious emoji. _not sweets!_ He amends before I can even answer.

I don’t think I have a favorite food. I mostly just eat to survive and occasionally surprise my taste buds with cake. _idk_ , I text back, _surprise me_.

_ur impossible :P_

But I think he likes a challenge.

~

_what r u doing?_ Mingyu texts me some boring, weekday afternoon. There’s a teasing, curious emoji attached to it.

_procrastinating,_ I answer simply.

_r u free 2nite?_ There’s a flirty, winking emoji this time. He’s laying it on so thick, it’s almost greasy. He should be glad I already like him so much.

_do you have smthn in mind?_

_;)_ It’s just a fucking winky face. I can’t believe him. Then moments later, _i’ll come over then_.

~

Mingyu shows up at my door in a loose shirt and tight pants. “Let’s go grocery shopping, nerd.”

“ _That’s_ part of your grand, romantic date?” I snort. I’m not dressed up, really because I’m not entirely convinced that Mingyu is showing up until he’s in front of my door. But I still put in a moderate effort.

“C’mon,” he goads, “it’ll be cute, romantic, domestic.” He talks up.

There’s something about that last word—domestic—that convinces me.

I don’t think I’ve ever been to the grocery store closest to my apartment. The convenience store always had everything I needed. “What are you making?” I ask, blinking hard to adjust to the bright lighting of the store.

“Fuck around and find out.” He laughs, swinging the basket in his hand. “Even when I get all the ingredients, you probably won’t know, huh?” He hums, looking around the produce section.

“Probably not.” I answer.

“I’m kinda into this.” He smirks, inspecting a package of noodles carefully.

“Into what?”

“Into leading you around and being in charge.” He grabs my hand with his free hand but doesn’t look at me.

“Oh?” I manage quietly because I am not reading into that statement in the middle of a grocery store. I just can’t.

“I guess that’s something to think about later.” He drops easily, pulling me into a different aisle.

And that faux-innocent, entirely suggestive, idol sexiness that Mingyu learned really will be the death of me.

~

Mingyu tries to make me his sous chef, helping him chop vegetables and stuff. It could be a cute drama moment but I end up getting scraps of food all over the counter instead and then I have a close call with the knife (which I can’t stop holding like a pen) and Mingyu downgrades me to a plastic knife. Then I manage to break the plastic knife in the middle of trying to cut an onion and he throws his hands up in defeat. “Alright, go sit at the table and keep me company or whatever.” He instructs.

I comply and drag my finger aimlessly over the tabletop while Mingyu takes over the onion I partially destroyed.

“Did you have any pets when you were a kid?” He asks conversationally. It is clearly not the drama-worthy moment he imagined but he’s making the most out of it.

“Uh…no.” I answer awkwardly. “My parents didn’t like the idea.” I try to keep it as light as I can considering the circumstances.

“Right.” He laughs, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. I wonder if he knows how handsome he looks even with sweat starting to bead at his temples, cooking in my barely-used kitchen. And all thoughts of my family are cleanly wiped away.

“Do you have any idol friends outside of D-Teen?” I try to be as friendly and light and conversational as Mingyu is but it’s not exactly my strong suit.

“You sound like a reporter.” He snorts. “Why? Are you looking to replace me?”

“I’m just wondering.” I defend. “I don’t have any famous friends outside of Comet but you’re better with people than me.”

“We were all close with Monsta X when we first debuted but then they blew up and everything.” He makes an uncommitted hand gesture but I hear the unspoken “and we didn’t” loud and clear. “I think I should meet some of the IOI girls that didn’t end up in Pristin. I mean, our precious, sweet Nayoung was the leader of a group with _Chungha_? I should probably jump on that. I get along better with girl groups anyway.”

I don’t recognize any of them names he threw out. Chungha sounds vaguely familiar, like someone AJ worked with once or something. The description of passing faces and losing connections to fame, being left behind and the underlying loneliness of existing in an industry jam packed with people paints a far bleaker picture than anything I ever wrote about, though. “I’m sure she’ll like you.” I offer weakly.

“Maybe.” He concedes. “But she probably won’t have time for me.”

So me and Mingyu parse out every connection we have in the industry to avoid really talking about it in any meaningful way. It turns out that Chungha was one of those solo idols that AJ collaborated with. And we worked with the same makeup artist for a while. We went to the same salon but at different times. Mingyu ended up on a show with some member of Teen Top once, not Niel though. And all of our connections have at least a couple degrees of separation. It is entirely unlikely that we would’ve met without our companies setting us up. Even our closest connection—Andrew being friends with Mingyu’s producer, Bumzu—wouldn’t have brought us together without extenuating circumstances. But neither of us say that out loud. It’s date night after all.

There a lull and we’ve probably named every far-fetched connection we have and Mingyu is just babysitting the pan full of noodles. The real cooking is already done. And I think maybe I can give him a little bit of drama fantasy I’m constantly screwing up for him. I slide behind him where he’s in front of the stove and wrap my arms around his waist. It’s not exactly the drama fantasy, I have to tiptoe to hook my chin on his shoulder and he’s too broad too really wrap around but it’s still nice.

“Hey baby,” He murmurs, putting his hand over mine.

“It smells good.” I tell him, nuzzling into his shoulder and sinking down to my normal height.

“Then you should sit down and wait for it.” It is a clearly a command but it is just _dripping_ in honey unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. I don’t know what to do with it. It makes all the hairs on my body stand on end and sends heat swirling in the pit of my stomach.

“I wanted to do something cute.” My voice is unconsciously whinier than normal, a pitch higher too. It’s a command I _want_ to listen to.

“You’re very cute but we should save this for after dinner, huh?” He gives me a warm and open smile over his shoulder and it’s a sexual thing, I realize. I’m _into_ this.

And then the embarrassment sinks in and my face flames up and I wish I could live in that little pocket of so readily trusting Mingyu that I don’t register anything else at all. “Oh, yeah.” I mutter, unlinking my arms and backing away.

“Go get some plates for me baby.” He tells me and then flashes me a brilliant smile. “Please?”

“Yeah,” I back off quickly, searching through my cabinets. Plates? Do I even _have_ plates?

~

It’s weird to eat for the taste and not because I might die if I don’t. But Mingyu’s food is good enough to eat for the taste alone. It’s weird to have such a comfortable and pleasant dinner too. Usually it’s like pulling teeth with me, even if it’s with Emily. I don’t like to eat and I don’t like to talk and neither does she. But it’s just so easy with Mingyu. He tells me with that same affectionate and commanding voice to drop the dishes in the sink and settles down on the couch with some music show on TV. I guess that’s what we’ve compromised on even though I don’t know any of the singers on TV.

When I finish up with the dishes, I sit down next to Mingyu and try to identify the gaggle of children dancing around the stage but it’s just not gonna happen. “I invited Jihoon over for the first time.” I throw out conversationally. “I don’t know if he’ll show up though.”

“I think he’ll like it.” He responds, turning away from the TV. “I think he’ll like the cats.”

The cats are both stuck in the bedroom because I was worried about them getting in the way of cooking. But I never considered that Jihoon would like them. He never seemed like an animal person. “I hope so.” I answer quietly.

Mingyu turns back to the TV but tugs on my arm—lightly, gently, barely any force at all—to pull me towards him. And that is exactly the amount of force it takes for me to listen, a suggestion rather than a command. I comply _disgustingly_ readily, wrapping myself around his side.

“So you like me being in charge, huh?”

I want to respond. I want to say “yes.” It’d be so easy to say “yes, I trust you with my life, I love the way your voice sounds with an edge of command, I’m putty in your hands.” But it’s so hard. My unavoidable embarrassment closes up my throat and shuts down my brain and the only response I can make is a distressed whine.

“Do you like it better when we don’t talk about it?” He teases, tucking a soft finger under my chin so I have to look at him.

I nod eagerly. I like it better when he’s the only one talking.

He clicks his tongue reluctantly. “We really…probably should talk about this.” He sighs and gives me a soft kiss. “But we can do that later.”

And all the tension leaves my body, I just melt into him easily. If I could purr, I probably would. I know we really should talk about this, in some distant part of my brain. We should set boundaries. We should discuss _everything_. We should parse out what’s real and what’s fake like we tried to parse out all our connections. This is a million times more important than shared stylists or friends of friends. But my throat is still firmly closed up, only pitiful little sounds slipping from my throat. And I don’t think there’s anything I can do to make words anymore.

Mingyu doesn’t taste spicy and bitter anymore, the meal was too mild to leave any taste in his mouth. But there’s still something about him so distinctly _not_ sweet that I can’t get enough of. It’s nothing like the one time someone got dared to kiss me at summer camp when I was fourteen or fifteen. It’s not even anything like kissing Mingyu drunk. Everything is solid, bold lines between us, I keep adjusting to where his hands are on me. On some inaccessible, conscious level I know that Mingyu is no more experienced than me but it feels so good to let him take charge. It feels so good to just slip into his lap.

And I’m already smaller than Mingyu. I’m already _noticeably_ smaller than him. It’s not as bad as me and Jihoon it’s…just _right_. But I’m so horribly, disgustingly into feeling so small that I sink down farther into his lap and his hands are cradled around my hips, his tongue in my mouth, his chest pressing into mine every time he breathes. The only thing left for me to experience was Mingyu—his scent, his warmth, his touch, his taste. And for the first time in my life they were no words for me. Not only can I not speak but I can’t even _think_. I can just be. There was nowhere else for me to pretend to be for once.

And I sink down further into his lap, balancing precariously on the edge of the couch, hanging on by friction and his arms around me alone. And then I unceremoniously plop onto the floor of my living room.

I like the view of Mingu looming over me but I'm having a hard time focusing. And without the distraction of everything else I finally realize that my glasses have been digging into my face and probably his too. I blink up at him, confused and uncoordinated like a newborn fawn.

"What are you doing down there, baby?" He teases gently. And he is just the picture of beauty—sparkling bright eyes, swollen lips, flushed cheeks. He looks so warm and trustworthy, looming over me like this. I want to hand him the world.

I make some sort of slightly distressed noise, my fingers tightening around his thighs. (His fucking thighs, thick and muscled in a way I never stopped to appreciate, oh my god.) 

"Still don't wanna talk, huh?" He's still smiling and warm but his hand lands heavy on my head. The fingers in my hair are somehow demeaning and condescending in exactly the way I crave.

I shake my head shyly.

"Do you want me to talk then?" He suggests, leaning down to just above my eye level. "I can tell you why you're on the floor if you want."

I’m nodding enthusiastically without even understanding the words first. I want whatever Mingyu will give me—hickies, that warm feeling, a loss of my words— _anything_.

“Well, first of all, you look so pretty on your knees, babydoll.”

It’s the way that the words just slip from his mouth that _almost_ convinces me that I’ve somehow managed to be so stunning, so _pretty_ that I interrupted his train of thought. That I tripped him up. I’ve never been pretty before. Never even dreamed of being pretty enough to find some kind of power in it. But here it was. My hands slide up his thighs, trembling but I can only barely tell with them resting on his legs, and pop the silver button on his jeans.

He sucks in a sharp breath. “So you’re playing for the jackpot, huh baby?”

But it’s not a request to stop or anything like it. So I slide down the zipper and hear every click on the way down. I don’t even know if I’m breathing anymore. And with the way Mingyu’s body is awkwardly tensed, also holding his breath (for what, I don’t know) I can only shimmy down his pants and boxers enough to see the tip of his cock resting comfortably against his stomach. It’s glistening and a flushed pink color. Nothing has ever looked more like an open invitation to me.

“You’re not making this easy.” He breathes out, his voice tight.

And my hands freeze because that sounds something like a request to stop. But I can’t stop staring. I’m only human after all.

“You want the whole world and you won’t even talk to me about this.” He chides.

And when I lift my eyes to his suddenly my throat isn’t so tight anymore. “I want this.” I answer in a tiny, squeaky voice that I barely recognize.

“Then who am I to deny you?” He laughs, kissing the top of my head before resting his hand in my hair again. He lifts his hips so I can at least drag his pants down to his thighs.

I lick tentatively at the head. Mingyu doesn’t move, he’s just a tensed mess trying his best for me. But there’s nothing bad about this. I’m doing just fine. The hand in my hair is gentle and comforting. And there’s something about the weight in my mouth that’s comforting too, soothing even. I feel like I could stay here forever and I my brain is too much of a pleasant, warm mush to try to analyze if that’s good or bad. I try to make some kind of encouraging noise, something to communicate how much I like this.

Mingyu just squirms and whines. “Gentle. Please.” He begs. “I’m sensitive.”

So I wrap my hand around him experimentally instead. I want to tell him how much I like having something in my mouth like this while my mouth is free but I seem to have lost my voice again. So I just go back to licking the tip.

I can feel the way his legs are tensed under my hands, his fingers flexing in the back of my skull but not pulling at my hair. I don’t think I’d mind if he did but I guess I’d have to say something to get that. I’m about to wrap my lips around him again when he whines, all long and drawn out—strained. And I look up to see if I’ve hurt him but what I see instead are his pretty pink lips stretch in a perfect ‘o’ and his eyes closed with a kind of serene peacefulness. It’s beautiful.

And then he cums all over my glasses and I can’t see much of anything anymore.

“Oh fuck. Oh shit.” He panics as soon as his eyes open again, trying frantically to wipe the cum off my glasses and face.

But I hardly care about that. I feel empty and vulnerable, the floor starting to get uncomfortable on my knees. “Fingers.” I request quietly.

“What?” He sounds almost incredulous, on the verge of laughter.

“Fingers.” I request again, my face starting to heat up.

He rests his thumb on my lips while the other hand goes back to trying to clean me up. “Is that what you want, baby?” He coos. I wrap my lips around the finger happily. He laughs softly, in that fond and amused way I can’t get enough of while he tries to haul me back onto the couch with one arm. “You want me to take care of you?” He reaches down to palm my crotch but I’m not hard anymore, just sated and happy with his fingers in his mouth. So he doesn’t say anything else, he just pushes all my hair out of my face and lets me lounge half in his lap, half splayed out over the couch.

“What should I wipe up the rest of the cum with?” He finally asks me.

I’ve floated down close enough to earth to actually comprehend the question. “You can just use your shirt.” I mumble sleepily.

“I actually gotta wear this out of the house, baby.” He laughs. “Anything else?”

“You’ve gotta leave?” I ask, a little more awake, an edge of fear to my voice.

“Yeah, I told the company I’d be home tonight.” He laughs apologetically.

“Why?” I pout.

“To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think you’d let me get this far.” He’s still stroking my hair as a kind of apology. I guess I can take it.

“You’ve been promising this the whole fucking time I’ve known you.” I complain.

“Well, you got flustered even sitting near me. I figured I was in this for the long haul.”

I’d like to argue with that but I am too sated to start anything. “Use my shirt then.”

So he gently removes my glasses from my face and pulls my shirt over my head. And I just watch the blurry outline of Mingyu wipe his own cum onto a Mad Clown shirt I got at one of his concerts and think, _maybe this is heaven_. But only maybe. Because if it was really heaven, he’d be wiping his cum off onto some shitty, blank shirt that costs me like two dollars instead of a concert tee I actually really liked. But…it’s pretty close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that part with woozi was probably my fav part to write so far i just love all of comet so much


	13. Chapter 13

I’m leaving AJ’s studio when my phone starts buzzing with some old Epik High song and my own ringtone is so foreign to me I almost don’t pick my phone up. It’s a cute selfie of Mingyu that greets me when I finally pick the phone up, though. “Are you okay?” I rush out in one, quiet breath. I remember the disaster that was the last time Mingyu bothered to _call_ me.

He laughs, light and natural. “Yeah,” he brushes off easily, “I just have good news and I wanted to call you for it.”

“News so good you have to call me for it?” I confirm, slipping into my studio. I don’t exactly trust Mingyu to have a conversation with me that doesn’t require privacy. He tried to pull shit in a grocery store already, phone sex while I’m in the office isn’t far off.

“Yeah,” and, I swear, I can hear the joints of an office chair spinning in the background. He certainly sounds excited enough to be spinning in his chair. “I got a spot on a talk show!” He finally bursts out.

“Wow, baby, I’m so happy for you.” And once the words leave my mouth, I realize that there was no “I’m so happy for you” before Mingyu. It’s a totally new feeling. I feel like I could subsist off of his happiness alone now though.

“They wanted you too but I knew you wouldn’t do it. Remember the fucking phone interview?” He giggles. “That was a disaster. Anyway we managed to get Soonyoung instead of you.”

“So Soonyoung’s gonna pretend to be your boyfriend this time?” I tease. But even the suggestion leaves a little stinging wound on my heart.

“I can’t switch boyfriends this late in the game.” He sighs exasperatedly. “Plus I’m pretty sure they’re only asking me to be there so I can talk about you.”

“And Soonyoung is just eye candy?” I prompt.

He blows a raspberry into the air. “No, he’s really good on camera—he’s got a lot of talents and he’s really funny. He’s there so people are paying attention to D-Teen even if they’re not paying attention to me, y’know?”

I don’t know. Whenever I was on broadcast with Andrew or AJ or anyone else, none of us were thinking about Comet and I rarely was even thinking about my own career. “That’s a good plan.” I offer unsurely. I still feel entirely unqualified to talk about idol stuff. “Remember to say nice stuff about me.” I joke.

“Of course,” he assures far too quickly for my liking. “I’ll tell them how sweet you are, how patient, how much you love your cats and how you’re just a big softie and how much you love my dick.”

I choke on the Red Bull I’m trying to down. “Don’t.” I manage, still coughing with my voice weak.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t say anything nice about you, you have an image to upkeep anyway.” He concedes.

“You shouldn’t say anything about dicks. You can’t even say ‘dick’ on TV anyway.” I try to argue.

He just laughs. “Oh, but I sure can insinuate it.” I picture the mischievous smile I’m sure he’s wearing without even trying. “So make sure to tune in.”

I don’t even get to respond before he hangs up on me. _you don’t have to threaten me to make me watch your show_ , I text him.

_but that’s the fun part :P_

~

I’m actually working on my next album the day Emily gets called in to mediate during negations between Andrew and some distribution company. Despite all of Emily’s natural laziness and her endless complaining, nothing would get done on the business end of Comet without her. But I barely feel her absence because Jeonghan comes in to take her spot on the couch sometime before lunch. I guess neither of us can really do anything productive without her around to coordinate it.

Jeonghan isn’t distracting in the way he usually is. He’s just…Well, he’s just like Emily—beautiful in a way that isn’t attacking my personally. His hair is a few inches shorter than normal, the length he normally keeps it when he damaged it too bad and his roots are dark and long. It looks like a fashion statement on him though. “So the silver really fucked your hair up?” I ask him conversationally. We’ve been good at existing in our own worlds, the silence between us doesn’t burn or crackle anymore.

He touches his hair fondly. “Yeah, it was such a concept though.” He sighs. “I kept getting offers for space-themed stuff, it was so cool.” He still looks like an otherworldly beauty. I’d still cast him for a space-themed shoot but maybe there’s still some lingering bias in me. “Why?” He presses teasingly. “Were you thinking about going silver?”

“I’ve never thought about dying my hair.” I answer honestly. I never thought about my appearance at all really. And AJ and Jeonghan were always dying their hair, always wrestling with damage and their roots growing out and the color not turning out like their vision. It seemed like a hassle.

“You should.” He offers, inspecting his nails. “AJ didn’t start getting thirsty fans until he dyed his hair blue. It could be good for your career.”

I snort. “So do you suggest blue? You’ve got an eye for fashion and everything.”

He holds up his fingers in a rectangle like a photographer finding the shot and frames me between them. “Hm,” he hums out thoughtfully, “actually, I’m thinking like a reddish purple.” He concludes. “Romantic, gothic, a little vampy, y’know?”

I don’t think Jeonghan has ever looked at me so thoughtfully before. I don’t think he’s ever really looked at me at all. It’s always been me staring with hopeless infatuation and him looking at his own reflection in my eyes. But my infatuation isn’t so hopeless anymore. Maybe it’s not even really infatuation. And there’s no reflection for him to look at. There’s just me. And with how much I actually think I like the color he picked out, it seems like he’s really _looking_. “I like the color but I don’t think I want thirsty fans.” I laugh.

“Right.” He snorts. “You’ve already got your little boyfriend and everything.” He waves off. There’s no malice or poison in the statement though. It’s just a fact. And it feels like whatever uncertain, aching chapter we were living in is closed now.

And so we sit there in my studio—not an idol and his admirer for once—instead, just two of Emily’s boys. We’re just coworkers, colleagues, friends maybe. He’s not an untouchable beauty I’m yearning to get my hands. He’s crumpled and tired on my couch, his attention mostly on his phone. (And I have a gut feeling that he’s texting Seungcheol but I still don’t care if it’s true or not.) And I’m writing songs that have nothing to do with him. So I pick at the only thread left that connects us. “What did Emily say in Shanghai that she didn’t want us to know about?”

He laughs. “I thought everyone was too drunk to remember that.” He fiddles with the corner of his phone case. “I mean, Emily definitely was.”

“I can’t believe I remember it either.”

“So we were in our hotel room and we were drinking and she was like ‘I always Comet clothes because it feels like having a piece of Andrew with me.’” He finally answers.

“That sounds like drunk Emily.” I confirm.

“Well, you know what a softie she is for Andrew.”

“And you know what Andrew’s done for her.” I counter.

“And what she’s done for Andrew.” He completes.

And I wonder if we were the only two people in the company who really knew everything about Emily and Andrew and how it all started. I think if we put our knowledge together, maybe with a little input from AJ, we could put together the whole history of Comet. And now we could finally get close enough to put the pieces together. The magnetic force that always pulled us together and pushed us apart isn’t nearly as strong anymore.

~

Emily takes up her spot on my couch a couple days later when the distribution negotiations are all done and Andrew is out of the office for “retail therapy” or something. She’s back in casual summer wear—some pajama shorts and a Comet shirt. The fact that it’s a Comet shirt again does not escape my attention but I save that as blackmail for later. “Someone told you about the talk show right?” She asks. I don’t think either of us are doing work. The whole company tends to take the day off when Andrew does though.

“ _What_ talk show?” The prospect makes me nervous enough to spin around in my chair and face her.

“The one Mingyu got offered.” She doesn’t even look up from her phone to answer.

“Oh…yeah.” All the nervousness leaks out of me and I turn back to my game.

“I figured someone would. I just had to make sure that they didn’t expect you to show up too first.”

“So, you’re the reason it’s Mingyu and Soonyoung instead of Mingyu and me?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she snorts, “I’m the reason it won’t be a grade A disaster.” She corrects.

And we both go back to procrastinating for a moment. “Hey,” I break the silence, “do you know where to order those flower wreaths they send to concerts and stuff?”

She sets her phone down firmly to fix me with a glare. “You are _not_ ordering one for Mingyu. That is so tacky and cheesy. I never even sent one to Andrew as a joke.”

“I think it’ll look good for the press.” I try.

“ _I_ think it’ll look like you’re trying too hard.” She shoots back.

I sigh and shake my head like she’s really forcing this response out of me. “Jeonghan told me what you said in Shanghai.” I wave in front of her casually.

“ _What_?” She hisses. “What did that little rat tell you?”

“About you always wearing Comet clothes because Andrew…” I trail off vaguely. I hope that’s enough to blackmail her because having to talk about either of our emotions or relationships will embarrass me as much as her honestly.

She takes a deep breath through her nose and picks her phone back up slowly. “I’ll order your stupid fucking wreath and then we’re even.” She decides. “And stop talking to Jeonghan, you two know too much combined.”

“Deal.” I agree. I just want to have a fairytale moment in front of the press. I want to really surprise and delight Mingyu again. But maybe I should talk to Jeonghan about Emily more often.

~

I’m home alone the night Mingyu shoots his talk show. It’s not intentional. I just want to catch the play-offs for this _League_ tournament when Mingyu calls me again. It doesn’t panic me so much this time. “Did you send me the flowers?” He doesn’t even bother with a “hello,” his voice hushed and excited over the line.

“Are you shooting today?” I ask him in place of answering.

“Of course I’m shooting today.” He mocks, still whispering. “Did no one give you the schedule?”

“Why would anyone give me the schedule when I was never going?”

He groans in frustration. “Never mind, did you send the flowers or not?”

“I did.” I manage, embarrassment making my throat tight. “Why are you so surprised?”

“I thought my parents sent them.” He answers more casually. “They sent me one for my debut so I figured they did it again but I just called them and they said they didn’t so…” He trails off vaguely.

“So, you like them?” I prompt.

“I do.” He answers quietly. “They’re the only flowers here and I’ve never been the only one to have something at a studio.” He laughs. “Everyone keeps staring at them and I think they’re all thinking of you.”

“It was a good idea then?” I ask a bit easier.

“It was a _great_ idea.” He responds but I feel like he’s mocking me somehow. “So good, I could kiss you. If we weren’t doing comeback prep right now I would drive to your place after this just to kiss you.”

“I get it. I get it.” I laugh. “I just wanted to be cute for the cameras even if I couldn’t be there.”

“And you were.” He coos jokingly. “But I gotta go back, break’s over. Thanks for everything.” I hear the exaggerated smacking sound of him blowing me a kiss and he hangs up before I can even respond.

Tobi is settled in next to me on the couch and I cup her face excitedly. “He liked it!” I cry.

Tobi just freezes, her eyes going wide and her hair standing on end.

“He really liked it!” I whisper-scream to the empty apartment, letting go of her face and petting her excitedly. But she darts out of my grasp the second she gets the chance. I guess I’m usually a more chill and gentle owner. She’s probably just not used to it. (It’s definitely not that my cats hate me specifically.)

But I don’t mind sitting on the couch alone, thinking about every event—every birthday and concert and TV show appearance—I could send Mingyu flowers for.

~

I’m alone in my studio— _truly_ alone, no one I know even in the company building—when it hits me that I have an album. I have most of an album anyway. I have more of an album than I ever had before I met Mingyu. I almost don’t recognize it as my album, spread out in voiceless hooks and unrecorded lyrics, but they _have_ to be mine. There’s no other explanation for the repetition of stars and constellations, the fixation on a bright, sharp smile, the comparison to being strapped into a rollercoaster that just won’t stop. It’s all about Mingyu.

I have an album full of love songs for the first time in my entire fucking career and they’re all real. No one even whispered the suggestion to me. I just kept sitting down to write about Mingyu and never noticed that it was him I was writing about. It was all entirely in my hands and I wrote real love songs about really being in love and how much it scared me and excited me and how it was unlike anything else in the world. It wasn’t all pain, thorns in my lungs and cancer in my bones. It was the thrill and danger of exploring space. It was simple actions magnified until they meant the entire world. It was…being _happy_ , truly.

And my own album that I made with my own two hands stares me back in the face—all the facts about my own emotions, my own brain, my own heart—laid out plainly on paper and music sheets. And there’s nothing I can do but stare back. Because it’s all real now. There’s no way to deny it. There’s no way to release this to the public and then try to quietly break up. There’s no going back.

But all I really wanna do is take my glasses off so I only have to look at soft and blurry concepts. Not such hard, irrefutable facts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you wanna imagine what wonwoo's new album sounds like, i was thinking PRVT01 by one, like clearly in love but also a little bit unhinged


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess tw for very vague implications of self harm at the end maybe? idk if that's even the right way to describe it, just know that in the second half of the chapter wonwoo LOSES IT and it might be uncomfy for some of you

I clear out a specific spot in my schedule to watch Mingyu’s talk show the second it airs. Maybe I shouldn’t. Emily is supposed to watch with me but she bails last minute when she realizes the show is like an hour and a half long and only a fraction of that time will be what she cares about. I know she lost her attention span back in the 90s, I suppose it was a big ask of her. So I sit at home alone, sharing the couch with Tobi and Esca, glued to my rarely-used TV.

The whole episode is themed to “celebrity couples” and Mingyu is just one of four. Given the other, older guests (most of them actors or announcers I’ve never heard of) I’m guessing Mingyu’s there to represent young love. The oldest couple, one that had been married for decades, get the most attention obviously. But Mingyu and Soonyoung still get something. They first have to explain that they’re not the couple—that they’re just members of the same group and Mingyu’s boyfriend isn’t here right now. And then they bring out a picture of the wreath I sent Mingyu and he gets to act all bashful and shy and it’s the highest I feel the whole show.

I have to hold Tobi in my lap to keep any sense of composure because I’m convinced my cats have the unique ability to mock someone and if I give them anything to work with I’ll be reminded of it forever. But it’s still hard. Somehow it’s still hard to not react to Mingyu playing everything up for the camera. He’s still so unbelievably bright, cute, sweet, _lovable_. It never stops making my heart race, making me want to scream into pillow, making me want to babble incessantly to the cats about how amazing he is. He’s a force to be reckoned with and the camera just _loves_ him.

Then at some point they ask Mingyu about skinship. I think it’s preceded by the older couples talking about the lack of skinship in marriage or something like that. But there Mingyu is, all bright smiles and palpable affection, and there’s a chain of paparazzi shots of him and me being intimate trailing behind him and suddenly everything is about him again. The host says something neutral like “Mingyu, you seem very affectionate, what style of skinship do you like?” And it only sends tiny little colonies of fire ants marching down my veins. It’s manageable.

But then Mingyu can’t find the words to really answer so he goes to “demonstrate” on Soonyung. And it’s nothing like what Mingyu is really like with me. And I really wish I could beat that into my own fucking skull but it just doesn’t stick. And I watch Mingyu stiffly pose over Soonyoung, sitting in his lap and clutching onto his arm and the fire ants turn into a white hot inferno.

I never had the time or the chance to examine my own jealous before. I never knew the feeling of having something and having it threatened. I was used to the weighty, lukewarm feeling of never having anything at all. But here it was. It was white hot. And it just _refuses_ to die out.

~

It’s some unassuming day in the office that Emily says one thing that changes everything. I’m working on my album and Emily is making the schedule for some model event and everything is so normal. It’s any other hot, summer afternoon. She doesn’t even look up from her work when she starts talking. “Someone told you already right?” She’s so casual. I never see anything coming.

“Told me about what?” My heartbeat stays a calm, metronome for the moment.

“Told you about the Pledis thing?” She elaborates. There’s something a little strained in her voice. An alarm bell starts going off faintly somewhere in my mind. But I don’t pay attention to it.

“What Pledis thing?” I press.

She sighs and I finally place the tightness in her voice—reluctance. She doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t want to tell me. And I finally stop to think what could Pledis want or do that would be so terrible that Emily doesn’t even want to _tell_ me. It’s a short and horrifying list I come up with. “They want to end this.” She finally tells me. Five words. No details.

And it just doesn’t make sense. “And what did you tell them?” I ask because Emily has spent all the time I’ve known her fighting for me, giving me special treatment, getting me exactly what I want and need. Some failing idol company should be no match for her.

“I didn’t fight them on it, if that’s what you’re asking.” She answers sharply.

“Why not?” I cry.

“There’s no point.” She hisses back. “This arrangement was always going to be temporary. I can extend it but I can’t make it forever. You can’t date someone because your company wants you to forever, Wonwoo.” She explains, her voice low and unforgiving. “I can’t fix this for you. I can’t do anything about it. If you want it to last forever, you have to make that happen yourself.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” I ask after a beat of silence, my voice on the verge of breaking. I can’t stay mad at Emily for long. Especially when how much she hates this too is written all over her face.

“You have to take Pledis—and _us_ —” she adds pointedly, “out of this entirely. You have to make it real. For real this time.”

“How?”

She shrugs ambivalently. “That’s up to you. I think you should start with talking to Mingyu, though. Remember, nothing’s over yet. It’s just in your hands.”

I look down at my hands like they really have the answer. They’re smooth and callusless. Maybe that’s part of the problem. And, for once since this whole thing started, I watch this precarious, house of cards we’ve built—pieces of fiction and pieces of reality stacked together like they could ever fit in the same structure—not just wobble but entirely topple. It’s not just unstable. It’s over. No matter what Emily says.

~

I don’t see Mingyu for a while. I don’t even talk to him. I should probably get used to it. He’s an idol doing comeback prep after all. He has to learn choreography and change his whole image and not just drop an album quietly and maybe do one or two TV performances. He has to do _dozens_. It’s a lengthy and time-consuming process. He probably hasn’t talked to anyone outside of Pledis either. I can’t hold it against him, that would just be unfair. So I spend the time I have in-between everything crashing down and drowning under the weight of everything, trying not to think about it.

I tell Emily that I’m giving up on music entirely and becoming a pro gamer. She just laughs me off. “Isn’t it supposed to go the other way around?” She presses. “Esports career first and then music or whatever?”

“I’ll just play support. They’re usually like twenty or something.” I wave off.

“You’re still older than twenty.” She reminds me teasingly. “But I’ll let you just play video games for now. That _Show Me the Money_ performance that AJ did a guest verse on just dropped and it is _killing_ the charts. He can subsidize you for now.” But I know Emily doesn’t really care how well AJ or Andrew or even Joshua are doing on the charts right now. She’d take care of me even if the company was actively going under. Maybe I should text AJ or something, though.

~

And then Mingyu texts me about coming over and I relent almost immediately because I miss him almost as much as I’ve been trying not to think about him. It’s a bad idea. It’s a terrible time. Under that thin layer of manufactured indifference I still feel everything too much. All the time. I’m still hurt and confused. Still miserable and panicked. Still feel the white hot fire of jealousy burning in my veins. I shouldn’t tell him yes but I can’t stop myself. And it’s only the first of my mistakes.

The plan is to pretend that nothing has changed. The plan is to give myself a few blissful moments while I still can. But the plan is fucked from the beginning. I never get around to asking him why he’s visiting now of all times. Mostly because I’m terrified of his answer. So we both go in blind and make a mess of everything.

He shows up at my studio with his hair shorter and darker than before. It’s not a drastic change—probably not even the end product—but it’s different. He’s got dark circles too, so dark that the makeup he’s wearing doesn’t even fully conceal them. It should make it harder to be mad at him, should make him more pitiable. But the fact soars over my head and lands somewhere useless.

“How have you been?” He asks casually but there’s a new heaviness to his voice. Probably the exhaustion.

“Fine.” My voice is brittle and uninviting. An old habit, I guess. “I’ve been playing a lot of _League_.”

He smiles wearily. There’s no brightness left between us and I guess we both know where this is headed. And suddenly everything seems dreamlike but not soft and pretty. It’s like those nightmares where I convince myself it’s real and things are gonna be like this forever—muted and sickly. “Summer isn’t your season huh?”

Despite being born in the middle of the season, it never was. It _almost_ never was. There was some brief moment between meeting Mingyu and now where I planned out rooftop dates where we looked at the dimmed stars and trips to the beach and In n Out milkshakes in LA, all under the bright, near-oppressive sunlight and warmth. But the dreams are gone. It’s not happening anymore. _Nothing_ is happening anymore and we just won’t talk about it and it’s driving me insane. And the fire that had been coursing through my veins for weeks, stifled by meaningless distractions, suddenly erupts into an inferno I can’t do anything about. “When were you gonna tell me?” I ask. It’s not a low hiss. It’s not a threat. It’s near a plea. I’m so low I’m willing to beg if he’ll just talk to me about something real.

His eyes widen and there’s some life in his face finally but I still don’t think he knows what’s going on here. “About what?”

“About ending this.” And part of me just wants to sink my teeth into the flesh of this relationship and rip it apart. Part of me is ready to be done with this. I can’t beg forever if nothing is going to happen. Maybe I don’t even have it in me to patch anything up. Maybe I should just leave everything burned and bloodstained.

“Look,” he sighs, reaching out for my arm, “it’s not over yet.”

I flinch away, though. “But you were just going to let your company do whatever they wanted and never even _tell_ me?” I accuse. “You don’t even care enough to tell me yourself? You’re fine with some faceless company worker telling Emily?”

“I didn’t want you to worry over nothing.” He starts to explain.

“Losing this is _nothing_?” I roar. I feel exposed and vulnerable. I feel like Mingyu is ripping the scab off of a barely-healed wound. I feel like I’ve been scammed the whole time. “I wrote a whole fucking album about you and this is _nothing_ to you?” My hands are shaking with the desire to scratch my own skin off.

“This isn’t nothing. I just don’t think they’ll go through with it. I want to convince them not to.”

“And you still couldn’t even _tell_ me so I could help you? Or get Comet on your side? Or _anything_?” There’s no logic to anything he’s saying anymore. It’s like I’m hearing an entirely different language. Like he’s not even fluent in Korean.

“Maybe it wasn’t the best choice.” He concedes.

“Or were you just going to take Pledis’s side the entire time?” I finally force out of my throat. “Were you always going to do what they wanted from you because it’s what’s best for your career?” All the pieces suddenly started falling into place before me. Of course Mingyu would be distant now. Of course he wouldn’t tell me when he was planning to leave. Of course he would get his dick sucked and then bail on me because he “had a curfew now.” He’s been doing exactly what’s best for his career the entire time. And I was going to throw all my success out the window just to be happy with him.

He finally stands up to his full height, entirely eclipsing me, his chest pushed out angrily. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” The fire inside me has gone icy—real anger and not just disguised hurt. “I didn’t play this game just for fame.”

“You’re covering up a fucking drug scandal, you stupid asshole.” He shoots back.

“You just wanted more fans, you shallow fucking _idol_.” And it’s something I know I can’t take back once it’s out of my mouth. I know that it’s something that changes a quarrel into a war.

His eyes narrow but he doesn’t shrink down. He doesn’t stoop to my level. He’s better than that and I’m almost proud of him. “You said—you fucking _promised_ —” he hisses at me, “that you’d always think of me as a person first but I guess you’d say whatever you needed to have someone be nice to you for once in your fucking life, huh?” It’s a killing blow. It’s a nuclear weapon of emotional destruction that I had just handed over to him because I never thought he’d use it. It was almost my fault. “I hope you’re happy with whatever idol or model you do this with next time. I bet Jeonghan would be a good replacement.” He tosses out like salt on a wound and slips out of my studio.

I stand alone in my studio with my heartbeat pounding in my ears and the sound of my own ragged breathing. And it feels _right_ for a second. This feels like the ending we were always destined for. I’m meant for misery and loneliness and heartbreak. I’d built a whole fucking career out of it. I could hand the whole new album over to Mingyu and he could dance to pretty love songs on every stage in Seoul. He could continue being some untouchable ideal to every fan that showed up for a concert or a fansign. And I would write the breakup album and everything would be right in the world. This is how things were _supposed_ to go.

It feels good—freeing, even—to be done and over with everything. I had never needed anyone before and I’d never need anyone again. I could be alone forever and no one would ever hurt me like that again. I could write enough songs and poems, novels if need be, about this searing, unimaginable pain and power to sustain the rest of my career.

But then the adrenaline stops pounding so violently against my brain and the pain really sets in. I really feel the gaping, bloody whole in the center of me where Mingyu ripped out all of my organs when he walked out. And the only logical solution I can think of to deal with the searing pain is to follow him. So I stumble out of my studio, into the hallway and tear through the company building, confused and hurt like a delirious animal until I hear the sound of someone. It’s Andrew’s voice, low and comforting accompanied by the sound of someone crying—bawling, _sobbing_ —this isn’t a pretty cry.

I stop outside the doorway and listen. “I’ll end the whole thing right now and you can still come over whenever you want and I’ll even give you guys one of Jihoon’s beats for your next album.” Andrew nearly coos. “Don’t worry about us, Mingyu, we’re worried about you.”

So it’s Mingyu crying. _I_ made Mingyu cry. _I_ made him cry, trapped in _my_ company’s building with only _my_ CEO and manager here to comfort him. Oh.

I can’t see either of them but I can easily imagine Andrew gently patting Mingyu’s back as he tries to comfort him. “Look, Wonwoo can be really harsh sometimes and I don’t expect you to ever forgive him. We’ve just had years to get used to this. I’m sorry I ever put you in that situation.”

“It was just so good for so long.” Mingyu finally responds and he sounds _heartbroken_. He sounds like I’ve torn him down entirely.

And I start crying out in the hallway. It’s not the soulful sobs Mingyu is still letting out next to Andrew. I had my breakdown, I poured everything in me into ripping Mingyu apart. Now it’s just pitiful, near-silent tears streaming down my face.

“I think…” Andrew sighs uncomfortably, “I think Wonwoo was just scared of how much he likes you. I think this happened because things were so good.” There’s another long pause. “But that can’t be your problem. So I’ll take you home and you just don’t worry about Wonwoo anymore, okay? Worry about having a really good comeback.” He encourages warmly. And I hear them move through the building away from me. But I can’t go anywhere.

I just slide down the hallway wall until I’m crouched on the floor, silent tears still dripping down my face. It’s like I feel every agonizing moment and also like time has ceased to exist. No one passes by me while I sit there, however long that is. I don’t hear anyone either. My mind eventually latches onto the thought that we either have too much space or not enough employees with how empty the building seems. Anything to distract me from the hollow hurt, I guess.

At some point, Emily comes down the hallway in just socks and what are probably pajamas, her hair tied into a loose bun looking distraught and frantic. “There you are!” She sighs, some of the tension leaving her body. “I was looking for you all over.” She leans down to help me up off the floor.

“I’m not going back to my studio.” I respond automatically, my voice coming out hollow and metallic.

“We’re not going there.” She answers easily, pulling me off the floor. She keeps a hold of my hand the entire walk. It reminds me of the time last year that Andrew got in a minor car accident and Emily _lost it_ , spent the whole rest of the day clinging desperately to Andrew like she would die if they were separated and then she demanded to manage him for like the next month. This isn’t that severe, I’m not Andrew after all, but it’s kind of like it.

Emily has an office. She rarely uses it but it exists. It’s clean and well-kept, unlike Andrew’s, but only because she so rarely uses it. There’s a poster-sized print of some old magazine cover with Emily in her red dress and dark hair, delicately holding Andrew’s arm and some smaller pictures of her when she was a teenager with her grandparents sitting on her desk. It’s basically unfamiliar to me. I slump onto her couch, half on the floor. She sits down delicately next to me.

“You really fucked up this time, huh?” She asks me gently. It doesn’t even tear into any of the fresh wounds covering my heart and mind.

“It’s over.” I answer, empty.

“It’s not over.” She assures me, stroking my hair.

“Yes it is, there’s no recovering from this.”

She snorts. “You know, when I was like your age, I fucked up this bad with Andrew more than once.”

“But you’re you and he’s Andrew, this is different.”

“Well, of course it’s different you idiot.” He flicks my forehead playfully. “I used to leave for modeling gigs without telling Andrew and I wouldn’t leave him a phone number or an address because I was scared of how much time I spent with him and how much I liked him.” She shrugs. “But he never held it against me and we’d always run into each other again somehow.”

“Because you two are _destined_ or whatever.” I roll my eyes.

“Maybe you and Mingyu are too. There were some pretty extraordinary circumstances to get you two to ever meet.” She tosses out innocently. “But we have cell phones now so you’ve gotta text him at _least_ if you ever want things to work out.” She threatens. “I’m not letting you leave this up to fate or whatever.

And I know she’s right. I just don’t know if it’s something I _can_ do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so now we just have fix ALL of wonwoo's relationships and we can wrap this boy up


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> au where the former pristin girls get even an ounce of respect or care from pledis lol

Emily traps me in my own studio the day after everything goes down. She doesn’t explicitly tell me why she’s breathing down my neck and blocking the exit whenever I glance at it but I know. We both know. I’m supposed to come up with something to say to Mingyu. I’m supposed write out something that will at least patch up the destruction I caused. But I don’t think there’s anything left to “patch up.” I think it’s all smoldering rubble and all I can do is try to rebuild. That seems like an impossible task, though.

I keep writing one or two words into the messenger and then deleting everything and staring at the last conversation we had blankly. It seems like two completely different people. But at the same time…the cracks were already showing. And my only remedy for it was to tear everything down to the foundation. I really wasn’t the person to fix this. Or even _start_ the process of fixing this. But I was the only one left.

So I write a couple words and I don’t delete them, I just leave them. And then I write a couple more. And then the whole thing is pouring out me like blood from a fresh wound. There are run-on sentences and too much repetition—the same words over and over again. It becomes paragraphs and paragraphs, longer than some songs I’ve written, I’m sure. I think I say something like, “you’re more than an idol to me,” or, “I love you for real,” or, “fate bent over backwards for us to meet, it can’t end like this.” But I don’t proofread anything. I don’t even look over my message again before I send it for fear I’ll just never send it.

The little checkmark indicating it was read appears near instantaneously. And a moment later a little bubble with ellipses pops up under it. Then it disappears. And appears again. And I just keep watching the screen, my insides tearing themselves apart with anxiety. I catch a few more of my own phrases, staring at the screen—“you didn’t deserve anything that vicious,” “I think of you when I look at the stars,” “I think about you all the time actually,”—but I can’t stop looking at where his response will be. At some point. Hopefully.

“You should eat something.” Emily reminds me, laying her hand gently on my shoulder.

“I can’t.” I answer without lifting my eyes from desk. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

She clicks her tongue worriedly but doesn’t press the matter. “Okay.” And then she nods to herself. “Okay.” She repeats more confidently.

And I don’t know how much time passes, watching the screen. Watching Mingyu’s indecision. Watching the bubble appear and disappear. But a message finally appears. _we should talk about this_. No cutesy emojis. No punctuation. No capital letters. Just five words staring back at me. But some bizarrely bright and optimistic part of my brain—something probably gifted to me by Mingyu himself—wonders that if five words was the beginning of the end, maybe five words can be the beginning of something better too.

Emily slides a cup in front of my face. “Smoothie.” She explains when I look at her.

“Huh?” I manage, blinking away the afterimage of my phone screen.

“It’s easier to throw up liquids than solids.” She offers.

And it’s just so funny, the way things have fallen into line in my life. I start laughing until I’m crying into my smoothie. So Emily starts laughing with me. And maybe it’s just a burst of destructive, manic energy to break up my comatose depression. But with Emily draped over the back of me and a promise to “talk about it,” it feels like a real good break for me.

~

Emily is still sitting behind me but everything feels more normal. She’s not trapping me in my own studio. The world is still turning. Things might not be entirely settled but we’re moving forward at least. “I think you should spend more time with Andrew maybe.” She tells me out of the blue. Her voice is tight and she’s purposefully avoiding eye contact. It makes me nervous.

“Why?” I finally answer.

“I’ve just been thinking…” She trails off unsurely. “Well, a lot of the things you do remind me of me when I was young and I want you to have a better life than me. So I think spending more time with Andrew will balance you out. I just think it’ll help.” She finishes lamely.

“I’ve always been too much like you.” I remind her. But this is not earth-shattering and I can let out the breath I was holding.

“And me and Andrew always hoped that you and AJ and everyone else would end up as a nice 50-50 mix of me and him because he’s too—”

“Spacey and affectionate.” I finish for her.

She just glares at me. “And I’m too—”

“Guarded and organized.”

She sighs. “Exactly. And you can do better than that so you should spend some time with Andrew—”

I cut her off again. “Are you gonna be AJ’s manager then?” I snort.

“It’s nothing that drastic.” She explains. “Maybe just go shopping with Andrew sometimes, eat lunch with him, stay at his house before concerts and stuff.”

I hate shopping and I can only take so much of Andrew’s passionate encouragement and fatherly affection. “What about Jihoon?” I ask to get her off-topic.

“What _about_ Jihoon?” She repeats, raising her eyebrows at me expectantly.

“Well he’s not too much like you or too much like Andrew.” I shrug and let her draw her own conclusions.

“Because he’s too much like himself.” She waves off.

“Did you ever try with him though?” I press. “Maybe the golden child won’t be me or AJ, maybe it’ll be Jihoon.”

“He’s got his family here, though.” But I see her face softening into curiosity, see her losing her defensiveness. “He’s not like you or AJ.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need a mom or a dad. Maybe he’d be fine with another aunt or uncle.” I toss out innocently. And I think in these trying times, everyone walking on eggshells uncomfortably with the world falling around us, it’s a lot easier to feel guilty about the things we _didn’t_ do.

So I watch Emily pick up her phone hurriedly. “Do you think calling him ‘Jihoonie’ would be too forward?” She asks, faux-casual. Like I’m ever going to believe she’s not trying to text him right now.

“From you?” I snort. “Yeah.” But I think maybe it’ll be good for Jihoon. And maybe I could trade out one of my regular lunches with Jihoon for a lunch with Andrew. Or maybe we could both have lunch with Andrew. I don’t know. Nothing’s settled yet.

~

So I only know what Starbursts are because I know Andrew. They’re an America-only candy, like a shittier Hi-Chew. I’ve tried them and just never got the appeal. But Andrew’s fucking crazy for them. His parents and his brothers always send him at least a bag for holidays and his birthday. He always brings an extra backpack with him when we fly to LA, just to fill with Starbursts for the way back. They’re pretty easy to just order online but Andrew never really had a good grasp on the internet and I didn’t have the patience to teach him.

And I’m _really_ , acutely aware of all the relationships I’ve maybe been…neglecting right now. So I buy a bag of those subpar candies off the internet with Andrew in mind. They come, inconveniently, in the middle of it all and I just stare at the package for a few days before I do anything with them. I pass by Andrew’s office one morning and he’s actually in it and I decide that’s probably the closes thing to a “sign” or whatever I get. So I come back with the red and yellow bag in my hands.

“Wonwoo,” he greets warmly, once his eyes drift up to me, “how are you? How’s everything with—”

I don’t let him finish his question, I just chuck the candies onto his desk. It knocks over a few random knick-knacks and skids to a stop under Andrew’s nose. It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to a perfect, drama-worthy moment and it’s with my fucking boss. Just my luck.

“Huh?” He manages, looking down at the bag.

“Thanks for taking a chance on me.” I force out of my throat. I think my face is red-hot with embarrassment which kinda ruins the whole cool, drama moment. But Andrew was never looking for anything cool or drama-worthy from me anyway. “Actually,” I amend, turning away, “thanks for taking a few chances on me.” And once the words are out of my mouth I just want to get away from his office as quickly as possible. Because this whole thing is only cool if I keep my mouth shut and say the bare minimum.

I do notice Andrew’s silence in my rush to get out of there before he gets sappy. And it’s nice to know that I’ve stunned him into silence because he _never_ shuts up. He’s the spirit of a puppy in the body of a tiny, middle-aged man. I think I’ve accomplished all I can with him stunned into silence.

But Andrew can’t be stunned, coerced, forced, bribed or pleaded into silence. It’s just not possible. And I hear him knock a ton of shit over (probably also his chair) in a burst of raw energy and he bolts to me. He latches onto me, his face buried somewhere near my waist I guess. “I knew you were a good kid.” It’s quiet and subdued in a way I didn’t think Andrew was capable of. And even with him trapping me in a completely unromantic back-hug, I feel it tug at my heart.

“You were the only one.” And I’m choked up suddenly.

“You know I wasn’t.” He laughs, turning me to face him. “I’m _far_ from the only one. I’m just glad you actually like me. I was starting to think that Emily was the only one you liked around here.” He jokes, prodding my side playfully.

“Keep it up and we’ll see.” I threaten. But there’s no bite in my voice with tears still clouding my vision.

“So do you wanna come shopping with me and AJ next time?” He offers sweetly, saddling up to my side like he’s trying to get something out of me instead of the other way around. “We could probably use a third for this song we’re working on too—” This time he cuts himself off worriedly. “Wait that didn’t come out right.”

“I’m already going to report you for sexual harassment.” I joke, seeing my way out and rushing down the hallway.

“You know what I meant.” He pleads, coming after me. And I might love Andrew (I might even love AJ, in some decidedly unromantic way) but shopping with both of them? At the same time? Hell.

~

Everything goes down in Andrew’s office. It’s the closest either of us can come to “neutral ground” without putting all of this out in public. And putting it out in the public just sounds like a bad idea to everyone. So it’s Andrew’s office.

Andrew leads me in first. “I’m on Mingyu’s side now.” He reminds me sternly. “Don’t think your Starbursts bribed me or anything.”

“Yes, sir.” I mock salute him to amuse myself.

“No matter what happens here, I’m on Mingyu’s side. You have Emily.” He repeats.

“Why does it sound like you’re getting divorced and this is the custody battle?” I joke, lounging on his couch.

“Even if we were getting divorced, we wouldn’t fight over you.” He tells me, punctuating the “you” by poking my nose.

“You can’t get divorced if you aren’t married.” I yell after him. But he’s either far enough away that he can’t hear me or he’s ignoring me. Both are equally possible.

It’s a lot harder to just lounge on the couch with Andrew gone. It’s a lot harder to pretend that everything is fine, sitting there, knowing that I’m waiting to see _Mingyu_. It’s hard to laugh off a second chance I don’t deserve. I fidget with my phone (there hasn’t been an update in my conversation with Mingyu since he agreed to talk about it, there hasn’t been an update in many of my other conversations either) and sit up straight, then try to make myself look more natural. Nothing seems to fit with the occasion though and my body stays in a permanent state of fidgety discomfort.

And then Mingyu shows up. His hair is still dark but now there’s a tint of blue or purple in it. And his eyes still have deep, dark bags under them but there’s not any makeup to hide them this time. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this version of him or if I’ll be stuck with the afterimage of brown hair and bright smiles for the rest of my life.

“Hey,” I offer unsurely.

He doesn’t respond, he just stumbles across the room in this bizarrely fluid movement. He only stops when his head makes contact with my chest, his arms snaking around my waist, pushing me back into the couch. “I don’t wanna be mad at you anymore.” He states surely. “I’m sick of it.”

“I fucked up pretty bad, though.” I push the hair away from his forehead fondly.

“Yeah, you did.” He confirms, his words muffled into my chest. “You broke my heart. Like…for real.” He holds one of my hands over his chest and I’ve never felt a heartbreak like this before but this doesn’t feel good. I can say that much.

“If it’s any consolation, I also broke my own heart.”

“It’s not.” He butts in harshly. And I probably deserve it. “You know what is consolation though?” It doesn’t seem like a question I should answer. “That you wrote a whole album about me.” He sighs dreamily. “I’ve been putting all this work into the idol thing when I could’ve just been your boyfriend and gotten the same immortalization and adoration and fame?” He looks up at me and must not find what he wanted because he frowns. “Is this why you think I only care about my career?” He asks sheepishly—big, bright, doe eyes in my face.

“I don’t even really think that.” I assure him. “I just panicked. I thought you were leaving. I thought the whole thing was fake.”

“I think it would’ve been easier if the whole thing was fake.” He pouts, rubbing his face into my shirt.

“I can’t imagine meeting you and letting you go, though.” I answer, my fingers still stroking through his hair.

“Letting me go?” He mocks. “You straight up pushed me away.”

“I’m sorry.” I finally say. “I was just scared. You didn’t do anything to deserve that.”

He clicks his tongue thoughtfully and looks away from me. “I probably should’ve told you what was going on with the company…with me.”

“That doesn’t mean you deserved what I said.” I argue, raising my voice just the slightest.

“Of course not.” He waves off. “But I said some shit too.” He shrugs. “You apologized, you seem to know what you did was wrong. Let’s just make up.” He settles on.

“I feel like I’m getting off easy.” I laugh, pulling him tighter to my chest. But my heart is still swelling with the knowledge that he’s even _willing_ to forgive me.

“First offense and all.” He smiles up at me. “How about you let me hear that album and we’ll call it even?”

“ _Hear_ the album?” I scoff. “You should _be_ on the album.”

And his eyes sparkle at me with all the stars in the universe. I never thought I’d get to see that ever again. Then he frowns skeptically. “Don’t forget what you did. You can’t make it up to me with an album every time. It’ll lose its novelty.” He brushes off casually. “Anyway, what song are you thinking?”

“The title track probably.” I pretend to muse about it. I’ll give Mingyu any song he wants. I’ll give him the whole fucking album and we can be one of those cringey (or legendary, I guess, if you’re Tiger JK and Yoon Mirae) couples that release whole collaboration albums.

He tries to suppress a surprised gasp with a neutral expression but I catch it. “We’ll see.” He finally answers. “We’ll see if you managed to write anything nice this album.” He climbs off of me with little grace and offers his hand to me. “C’mon, I’ve gotta hear it before I feature on it.”

I take his hand and I could just follow him. I could let him listen to the whole album and pick every song he likes. We’ve made up. There’s nothing left I have to do. Except there _is_. “Mingyu,” I call softly and gulp. I know forcing these words out of my throat will take some coaxing. “I love you for real. It’s all been real.”

He laughs like he’s known the whole time. There’s no surprise or shock in the sound. It’s soft and warm and rounded like the sun itself. “Since when?” He asks, wrapping his arms back around my waist.

“Since I saw that first picture of us at least.” I respond, holding him close. “You’re really easy to fall in love with.”

“That’s disgusting.” He laughs. “Who’s _that_ greasy that’s rubbing off on you?”

“You.” I answer with a quick peck to his lips.

He dramatically wipes his mouth off. “For the record, you are a _nightmare_ to fall in love with.”

“But?” I prompt hopefully.

“But I managed somehow.” He responds, rolling his eyes before leaning down for a sweet, quick kiss. “You should take me home” It sounds like a suggestion but it’s really a command and I know it.

“I thought you wanted to listen to the album?”

“Can’t we do that at your place?” He laughs, pulling me out of the office.

“I guess we can.” I answer unsurely, following him as best I can.

Andrew is waiting outside the office for us, trying to act inconspicuous in this empty hallway. “Where are you going?” He asks hurriedly.

“I’m taking Mingyu home.” I answer over my shoulder.

“You can’t solve all your problems by fucking them out!” Emily shouts from further down the hallway.

“We already solved all our problems, though.” Mingyu yells back, giving her a wink.

If this was some alternate universe and Emily and Andrew were my real parents, I could get into the fantasy of running away with a mischievous but well-meaning Mingyu. But this is this universe and I wasn’t really running away (plus I’d be the one driving anyway) and I’d see both of them again tomorrow probably. But I still try to keep some of the magic.

“Can you stay the night?” I ask him, turning the corner away from everyone. “Like for real?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “curfew is suspended for now. Pledis had all these angry Pristin fans up their ass so they decided to split our comeback prep with Kyulkyung so we’re off the hook for a while.”

“But what about _your_ comeback?” I press.

“Just postponed a little bit.” He shrugs. “Don’t you worry about my career. Especially with the possibility of getting on _your_ album?” He swings out conjoined hands excitedly. “The company would have to give me a free pass for like…ever.”

I try to open the car door for him but he beats me to it. “I can’t believe I’m the first one to write songs about you.” I sigh, getting into the car after him. “Seungcheol or Soonyoung or anyone else didn’t get around to it before this?”

“Of course not. We have more of a familial relationship anyway. Plus I think Seungcheol’s already pretty busy writing about Jeonghan.” He drops casually.

“Oh, so _that’s_ happening?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

“Well, it’s definitely happening for Seungcheol. I don’t know about Jeonghan.”

I stare at the road ahead of me thoughtfully. “I don’t know about Jeonghan either but…” I really think about it. “I think it’ll be something at least.”

“I don’t know if I’d trust you to predict romance.” He snorts but his hand is still over mine and I catch him looking at me fondly through the rearview mirror.

~

It’s different, letting Mingyu into my apartment this time. It’s different from any other time. There is no desperation clawing down my back. We have all the time in the world. Tobi and Esca scurry away from the door once they see it’s just me and Mingyu. “Kitties, no.” He yells after the cats but they’re not coming back. He shrugs it off easily. “I guess they’d ruin the mood anyway.”

Kissing him is different too. It’s not searing hot curiosity. Or too-strong passion. I can’t act—I can’t _kiss_ him like—this will never end. Like we’re just enjoying a moment brought to us by fate. I know what it feels like to watch him slide through my fingers. I know what it’s like to consider this ending. And I hold him a little tighter, I wind my fingers into his hair and breathe him in a little deeper.

I thought that the feeling of holding something and having it threatened was the strongest new emotion I learned from this whole experience. But having something threatened and then getting it back? It was like the exact opposite of that miserable, soul-crushing experience. It was like my soul ascended. It was like for once in my whole fucking life, I was really comfortable. I could feel my own skin against Mingyu’s and felt no desire to scratch it off or alter it in some way. I could stay here like this forever.

I was always scared of the new album because it was about Mingyu—because it was about something I gained and not about something I lost. I was afraid because it’d last forever (even if I never let it out of the confines of my studio). But now? Now this could last exactly as long as the album. Now there’s the pretty, pretty, _wonderful_ possibility that this could be forever.

~

Miraculously, somehow, I wake up the next morning before Mingyu does. He’s still sleeping peacefully next to me in my bed, Tobi and Esca laying at his feet. I tap at my phone to see the time and then I’m not thinking about Mingyu anymore. Not really anyway.

It’s only a few days before my birthday. In a few days Hyojin will call me like he has every year since my nineteenth birthday when I finally got in touch with him again. And nothing will change. I can open a few more doors to him and hope that he stumbles upon them somehow. I can tell him about Mingyu, maybe even give him my address, send him a few pictures of the cats. But if I do that _nothing_ will change. I will be the absent, vacant older brother I’ve always been to him. A celebrity he only gets to see from the other side of a screen. An idea cobbled together from years-old memories more than a person.

So I stare at the homescreen of my phone, at the picture of my cats that had been there ever since I got this phone and I just stare. I hover over the phone button with Mingyu still sleeping peacefully. And I think about how Mingyu pushed me to this precipice—both by directly telling me to fix things with my brother and also by teaching me the valuable lesson of losing things that you truly love. But he’s sleeping now. This is entirely in my hands. And I’m not sure if I’m the same person I’ve been since I moved to Seoul. Maybe time is moving forward for me now.

“Hey, Hyojin,” I greet softly, when he picks up.

He’s too excited, too many questions overlapping over each other. I can’t pick out anything to answer. But he sounds just like I remember him sounding.

“I’m sure you heard about me and Mingyu, that idol kid.” I tell him, laughing softly. I wish I had some better identifier for Mingyu than that “idol kid” but I stroke my hand over his relaxed face as an apology.

“Is it true?” He yells into the phone so loudly that Esca’s ears perk up at the noise.

I cover the speaker with my hand to muffle the noise. “Well…It’s a long story.” I finally settle on. Mingyu sleepily presses his face into my palm. “But the important thing is, I really love him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe this was never about drug scandals or failing idol groups, maybe it was just about the friends we made along the way  
> thanks for sticking around guys <3


	16. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise epilogue! partially bc i really wanted this fic to his 50k and partially bc of my endless need to heavily romanticize southern california even tho i literally live there and have my whole life

It’s not Mingyu’s first time in LA but it is Hyojin’s. While I promise to take Mingyu to LA before we’re really even officially dating, it takes some convincing with Hyojin. It’s not like he’s not interested but he spends every break he gets from school going to visit family. But after mom’s utter disinterest in him and dad’s continued refusal to be home and awake for more than an hour, it’s a lot easier to convince him. When Hyojin moves in with me his English is already better than mine but stale and stilted like he learned it all from a textbook. I assume it’ll wear off after spending any time with Emily or Andrew or AJ though. So once we really convince him, he’s all in. He makes me buy him a pair of authentic Vans and starts looking at some of AJ’s old photoshoots for fashion inspiration. And the second the rest of Comet hear that Hyojin is going to LA, they drop everything to go with him.

It’s different, going to LA with my little brother, for sure. It’s more like a family trip than a business trip or an unofficial honeymoon. But it’s not bad. On day or three or whatever when we all finally reconvene and spend a day down by the boardwalk, we’re walking in scattered pairs and trios. Emily in a crop top and jean cut-offs, making a face at Andrew who’s in board shorts and a shirt from a local record shop, both of them looking like the natives they are. AJ has been streaming on his Instalive like the entire time we’ve been in LA, now he’s circling around Hyojin and throwing his arm around his shoulders. Me and Mingyu bring up the rear, sharing a churro and an In n Out milkshake.

“Yeah, this is MKTM’s little bro.” AJ introduces to his phone. He has to use a selfie stick to get both him and Hyojin in the same frame but it doesn’t seem to be bothering him. He squints to read a comment. “Yeah, Hyojin is like a million times cuter than his brother but I’ll let you guys vote on that in the comments.” He laughs.

“He’s not a celebrity. They shouldn’t even know what he looks like!” I yell at AJ from the back.

“We get to play by American rules here.” He taunts, sticking his tongue out at me. He slings his arm back around Hyojin’s shoulders. “And maybe you’ll end up a celebrity anyway.” He laughs.

“Maybe.” Hyojin answers, uncharacteristically bashful and quiet. It’s probably the camera. Hyojin is currently playing on his college volleyball team and working towards being a teacher but he’s always been handsome and bright enough to do anything. It wouldn’t shock me too much if he got scouted to be an actor or a model, if he ended up a celebrity in the end anyway.

Mingyu breaks off a piece of the churro and hands it to me. “What do you think about that?” He whispers, gesturing to Hyojin.

“About what?” I respond. “Him being a celebrity? I mean…he’d probably be a better celebrity than me.” I laugh.

“No.” He corrects. “What do you think about _that_?” He frames his fingers around both Hyojin and AJ.

“About Hyojin and AJ?” My voice pitches up slightly in panic. I have nothing against the idea of Hyojin dating now, I’ve never been that kind of older brother. It’s the idea of dating AJ that makes my voice tighten. I’d known AJ long enough to know that he doesn’t really date as much as he has little month-long somethings that end abruptly when he ghosts them after they get too close. Even when they’re already close to him, even when it gets messy. He’d done it to actors and singers who hounded down Andrew or Joshua or anyone else who was publically close to him to try to get a response out of him. But I’d never seen AJ crack and ever acknowledge them again. And it’s not something I’d wish upon my only brother.

Mingyu holds his hands up in surrender. “I don’t know anything, I’m just playing around.” He defends.

But I’m already thinking about it. It already seems too…likely. Hyojin looked to AJ for fashion cues. He spent all his time with AJ when he wasn’t with me at Comet. I’d seen him _blush_ in front of AJ before.

Mingyu squeezes my cheeks together playfully, pushing out my lips. “Stop thinking.” He chides. “Eat a churro.” And he presses the pastry to my mouth.

“You brought it up.” I argue.

“I always wanted to know if you were a protective kind of older brother.” He shrugs. “Now I know.”

“I’m not.” I defend. “I just know AJ too well. I know how he does ‘relationships’.” I put air quotes around the last word.

“Ooh, spicy.” He laughs. “Keep me posted.” He links our free hands together. “I’m missing out on relationship drama now that everyone’s like…boring and settled down.” He complains. “Speaking of—Hyojin!” He yells, waving him over.

“Yeah?” He responds, lightly jogging back to us.

“We have some news for you.” Mingyu sing-songs vaguely.

Hyojin’s whole face lights up, his eyes going wide. “Are you guys getting _married_?” He whisper-screams, trying not to alert all the other tourists on the boardwalk to us.

“No.” I tell him at the exact same time Mingyu says, “not right now.”

“ _Not right now_?” I repeat to him, in disbelief.

“I mean…it’s not off the table.” He answers, drawing out the end of the statement suggestively. “But that’s not the news we’re talking about.”

“What is it then?” Hyojin is still all sparkling eyes and unmasked excitement.

“I’m gonna move in with you guys.” I don’t think it’s _big_ news really. In-between comebacks and promotions Mingyu was basically already a resident at our place and he and Hyojin got along better than me and Hyojin most days. It just felt wrong to not tell Hyojin before it happened.

“That’s basically getting married.” He rolls his eyes.

“Not forever, just for a little bit.” Mingyu elaborates. “Just while I’m working on this drama because you guys are closer to where we’re filming.”

“I don’t know.” Hyojin muses thoughtfully. “Hyung, do we have room for four?” Hyojin always includes the cats in his headcount of the household. He was especially worried about leaving them alone for this trip. But they’re happier than ever with Jihoon taking care of them. Jihoon had been head over heels for both of the cats but especially Esca ever since he met them. And Esca was equally as head over heels for him because he was the only one that she ever willingly sat on or let pick her up. I probably would’ve let Jihoon just adopt the cats honestly, if I wasn’t still stubbornly and desperately trying to get any measure of affection out of them.

“You know there’s room for more than four.” I push at his forehead playfully.

He pushes my hand away with too much force but I know he’s a literal athlete and I’m a frail ass bitch so I don’t hold it against him. “Then we should get another pet.” He bargains.

“I’m still working on getting the cats to love me, let’s slow down here.”

“You should just say ‘no’ if that’s what you wanna say because those cats are only gonna like you at best.” He snorts. “But cool that Mingyu’ll be staying with us, at least I can split the cooking duties with someone for once.” He laughs to himself before jogging away to catch back up with AJ.

“He got two burns in with you and you didn’t even say anything.” Mingyu whistles to me lowly.

“I am being a good big brother.” I tell him through gritted teeth.

Eventually AJ, Hyojin and Andrew hop over the concrete wall separating the sand from the sidewalk while me, Emily and Mingyu opt to sit down on the sand. “So, if we really got married,” Mingyu starts out, picking at the grass beneath us, “who would walk you down the aisle?”

I can feel Emily’s expectant gaze boring into the side of my face. “You know who.” I answer reluctantly.

She jabs her foot into my back. “Answer it, brat.” She demands. “Give me this one little bit of satisfaction after all the shit you’ve dragged me through.”

“Emily and Andrew would walk me down the aisle, obviously.” I answer robotically, pronouncing each syllable with forced precision.

“I don’t know.” Mingyu teases. “Doesn’t she have a history of crashing weddings and showing up the happy couple? I’ve _got_ to be the hottest person at my wedding.”

“Would you tone it down for your one and only, beloved son?” I plead with Emily, clenching my jaw.

She laughs. “I’ve still got Jeonghan. Don’t think you’re so special.” She raises her gaze to look at Mingyu instead. “But don’t worry about me, I’m not the twenty-something stunner I once was.” She flips honey brown hair over her shoulder. And there might be some lines settling in around her eyes and mouth now but she’s still undeniably beautiful. Even if she’s far enough away from being the model that Andrew launched into superstardom now that the media wouldn’t care about seeing her in the crowd of my hypothetical wedding. “Maybe I’d just be the hottest person in a dress at your wedding.” She concedes.

“But see, I was thinking we could get a wedding dress for Wonwoo because he’s really cute—”

“Whoa!” I cut off. “Absolutely not. No.” There may or may not be a locked box slid under my bed back home with a few dresses or skirts or other items in it that Hyojin is absolutely _not_ allowed to know about. But that was entirely different from a wedding.

Mingyu just laughs fondly. “Isn’t he cute when he blushes?” He muses.

“I don’t know, I’m kinda sick of the whole ‘flustered mess’ thing.” Emily snorts but goes to smooth down my hair fondly.

The sun is already hanging low in the horizon and I can see AJ, Hyojin and Andrew playing in the shallow water on the beach ahead. And for one, faint, ephemeral moment I think I catch a gossamer string sparkling in the sunlight. And I can trace the string from Andrew to AJ to Hyojin to Mingyu to Emily and right back to me. And it feels right to be connected like that—fragile but present. And I can imagine us together like this for a wedding. Or a birthday. Or a graduation. Or parents’ day or Chuseok or anything worth celebrating really for a really long time at least. (For the rest of forever probably.)

“Hey,” Mingyu nudges me and the sun is sparkling in his eyes and his skin looks so good in the California sun and I can see the streaks of brown in his hair and I think he really is _the_ one for me. For good. “Give me the milkshake, god.” He complains, wrenching the cup out of my grasp. “Fucking greedy motherfucker.” He grumbles.

And I’m back to reality. The string between us has disappeared. (But the invisible connection remains.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i actually might do a spin-off with aj and hyojin but i wouldn't clog the seventeen tag with that since they're both ocs lol)  
> [tumblr](angelinmyheartt.tumblr.com) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Nitzer)


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